


The Huntsman's Choice

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Series: The Huntsman and the Prince [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairytale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Fanart, Forced Marriage, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt Jim, Hurt McCoy, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Secrets, With A Twist, Wooing, implied slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 72,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: His father's lands overtaken and now left with nothing, Prince James is forced to wed the Huntsman he fought with in the woods to save his people from certain death. He will soon discover that not all is as it appears.





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> This short story was inspired by gifs posted of Jim/Bones (as Cinderella's Prince and Eomer) on the LJ community this week, by heavenlybodies. It's as close to a Halloween story as I can come up with this year. :D I'm not sure what to classify it as. It falls somewhere in between a medieval tale and a fairytale. Please note that in this story Jim is not Cinderella's Prince and Bones is not Eomer, but other characters I have created. Thank you, Diamondblue4, for betaing!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the read!

“Come, then,” the Huntsman said roughly, indicating with his hand to join him on his horse.

James tore his eyes away from the motion, from the battle-worn man who carried himself with ease on his snorting, jittery dark horse. He’d only seen the Huntsmen from afar, their fabled taste for cruelty and war apparent in the very way they dressed and spoke. He believed every frightening rumor about them. Even the ones which spoke of their hands, forever stained with the blood of their victims. Hidden only by the black gloves that they wore.

He believed the tales because they had, after all, conquered nearly all of his father’s lands in just one day’s time.

As prince, and the last of the royal bloodline of the Kirks, he’d been kept safe within the confines of the castle in recent years. He’d never seen a barbarian before today. They’d stormed their way onto his lands with their unbound, long hair streaming behind him, their horses’ hooves tearing apart their once beautiful, bounteous fields.

Though he was vulnerable without a horse, he narrowed his eyes on the other man in challenge. All Huntsmen proclaimed they were here on their ruler’s behalf, King Leonard, to rescue them from Sir Nero and his inevitable onslaught upon the kingdom. The Huntsmen’s King offered them all a haven amongst his people—if they relinquished their arms and shared their bounty and wed their men and women.

Grow strong together? James could not stomach the idea. The loss it represented. His father’s once glorious kingdom, destroyed. The last memories he had of King George, his father, woven into something so new he could not recognize it. Yet he could no longer protect his own people. A sickness had swept the castle and neighboring lands a fortnight ago, killing all but one hundred living within the castle and forty-two outside of his father’s once formidable walls. Not to mention the danger Nero presented to his weakened stronghold.

He could not even pull himself upon a horse, but had battled on foot and without a shield as long as he could.

It was foolish, perhaps, but his people were not spineless. They fought with spirit. With hope that help would finally come. Even when their bellies were empty.

“Don’t ask me out of pity,” he spat.

“‘Tis not with pity that I ask,” the Huntsman said, his eyes tracing the lines of his body.

Unused to such attention, except for when he was in court, James stepped back.

“‘Tis pity,” he forced out. “For what do we have that you do not?”

The silence was as thick as the vines snaking around the trees of the forest.

The Huntsman motioned with his hand again. “Come. Be my husband.”

“I have nothing,” he said harshly. “You’ve taken it all. Find someone else worthy of your...your...savage ways.”

The Huntsman dropped his hand. “You are trying my patience.”

“You are trespassing on my father’s land!” he cried, his anger rising.

“Your father?” the other man echoed.

The Huntsman’s horse pranced as the man circled it around James, his eyes piercing him.

“Yes. King George,” he announced, tightening his grip on his sword.

But he was too weak to even lift it.

The Huntsman’s eyes flickered. “You are King—?”

“Prince,” James snapped.

Never... _King_. He was not worthy of his father's title. He would never be, thanks to the weakness which plagued him nightly. He was a prince forevermore.

“You have been ill, _Prince James_ ,” the Huntsman said in an even tone, now rounding him for a second time. “I am certain of this. I see how you tremble. ‘Tis not out of fear.”

“Fear? You know nothing of fear,” he whispered, eyes cast on the ground.

The Huntsmen had not killed a single soul, indicating that they were being taken as prisoners. To become their husbands and wives. But could he be wrong? Was this his last moment, after all? His last breath?

“We’ve captured your city, but only to save you, Prince James,” the Huntsman said chidingly.

“Save? Ha,” he laughed dryly. “Your reputation as torturers proceeds you.”

The Huntsman pulled on the reins. “Our reputation,” he repeated tersely.

“Yes,” James spat.

The Huntsman leaned over his horse and tipped up James’s chin with a gloved hand. “I promise you, Prince James,” he said, eyes flashing down at him, “That not one of your people will be tortured. Not a single hair on their heads harmed. Only their bodies warmed and their bellies filled.”

James’s breath hitched.

“As long as you wed me before night falls,” the Huntsman ordered.

“Never,” he gritted out.

The Huntsman stared at him. “You would sacrifice—”

“Never,” he interjected, his softened tone grabbing the other man’s attention. “Unless you promise that my people will have a choice on their mates. Let it be their decision and theirs alone. Not the King’s.”

The Huntsman narrowed his eyes and nodded. “It will be as you ask.”

He suddenly dropped his hand from James’s chin, the skin tingling where his gloved fingers had touched him.

James resisted the urge to press his hand up to his chin.

“You cannot promise me these things,” he said doubtfully, heart thumping as the Huntsman and the horse backed up further into the forest. “You are not the King.”

The distance between them left him cold.

“You’re leaving?” he asked in a mixture of disbelief and apprehension.

The Huntsman didn’t reply.

James, against his own common sense, tried to think of something else to say to keep him here.

“At least tell me your name,” he commanded.

The Huntsman dug his heels into the sides of his horse, a burst of air, like smoke from a dragon, coming out of the creature’s nostrils as it reared up.

James’s breath caught again, the image as disturbing as the ones he experienced in his nightly terrors.

“I cannot, Prince James. Not...yet.” The Huntsman said once the animal dropped to all fours. “Drop your sword.”

“Wait,” James said uneasily, the emotion in the Huntsman's eyes stirring something unfamiliar within his belly. “I—”

It was too late. The Huntsman charged.

The sword slipped from his fingers like he was an inexperienced youth, when he was merely shocked by the intent and possessiveness in the other man’s eyes. Before he could take another step back, a large, muscled arm snaked around his waist and pulled him onto the horse.

Still weak from his previous illness and also the battle, he could not help but rest his head against the Huntsman’s chest for their journey back to his castle.

As the Huntsman carefully pulled him down from his horse and carried him inside, he finally realized just how long their journey back had taken.

It had not been a short ride. Nay, it had been a gentle ride with the time to exchange stories, had he been more lucid.

His conqueror’s hand had been fixed securely around his waist to keep him from falling.

‘Twas a shame, James thought to himself as two others helped him to a bed, that it had not lingered more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on my muse, this could be four chapters - or ten. We shall see. I planned for four, but I am willing to make it longer.
> 
> The next chapter will be posted tomorrow. (And I am working on my other fics, this one just begged to be written!)
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please, review? :)


	2. Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You might have noticed that I added a few tags and chapters to the fic. :D I'm excited to include a few Beauty and the Beast elements, though it's not "that" story. Not at all. Just a few elements with several twists! 
> 
> I wanted to include a song list but I'm not terribly organized at the moment so no song list. But in general, I've been listening to Celtic music and the Robin Hood, Braveheart, and Lord of the Rings soundtracks while writing this. Also, music by Loreena McKennitt. My favorite song of hers is The Highwayman, which is a poem by Tennyson, which just happens to be my all-time favorite poem. And quite appropriate for Halloween, I might add!
> 
> Thank you, Diamondblue4, for betaing! *Hugs*
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter! Oh, and Happy Halloween!

The sound of a crackling fire awakened him. Smoke mixed with a familiar scent of spices teased his senses.

He prodded his eyes open with a faint groan.

He was in an unfamiliar chamber. Not his royal room, but a room reserved for courtly guests. Was he to be treated as a stranger in his father’s castle? Or was he in the barbarian’s castle, after all?

He could not remember. His head was thick from his dreams.

He lifted his head and looked around, searching for his captor. He saw only an unknown maiden kneeling by the hearth, stirring a pot.

“‘Tis ‘bout time ye awakened, my lord,” she said softly, curls of red peeking from her simple veil as she turned her head to stare at him.

He cocked his head, peering in the dim light to see her face. She was pleasing to the eye, her smile charming.

“He has been waitin’ for hours now,” she said, getting to her feet.

James would prefer him to wait more.

She ladled the liquid from the pot into a cup and brought it to him. “Here,” she said, urging him to take a drink. “‘Twill help.”

“With what?” he rasped.

She sent him a knowing look. “I put it in the fire, my lord.”

Shamed, he stared down at the murky drink. He could not find it within himself to ask how bad it had been. It was difficult enough that she knew and had hid the evidence.

“He does not know from what you suffer,” she said quietly. “I would tell him, if I were you.”

He stared at her. “And who are you to speak to me as would a mother?”

A dimple appeared on her cheek. “My name is Gaila, my lord.”

“I am to wed him? Still?”

“Aye,” she said, nodding. “Ye must clean thy hands and face, wear a shirt more suitable for the crown, and shave thy face.”

He looked down at himself. He wore only a fresh linen shirt, his own clothing having been removed. Indeed, his hands were covered with dirt. He rubbed his chin. He had not cared how he looked. Only that he’d survived to save his people.

Then he remembered. “Crown?”

“King Leonard cannot marry a man who cares naught how he appears,” she tsked.

He inhaled sharply. “I will not marry your king,” he said, inwardly seething that their verbal agreement had been altered without his knowing. “But the...the _huntsman_ who captured me.”

“Aye, but ye must,” she said, eyes softening. “King Leonard wishes to wed thee. He will not take lightly to a broken promise.”

He closed his eyes. His people came first. Before him. He must marry this man. Or whomever the King paired him with.

He should not have announced his title to his captor. A foolish mistake that had cost him his freedom. Marrying this King would fill him with far more anguish than if he married one of his hunters. Bound to a King, he would have to hold to duty above all.

“I must,” he whispered to himself, girding himself with the resilience for which he was known.

He drank the liquid, finishing it completely, and slipped out of bed. The maiden assisted him quietly, though he refused the help.

“Where is the manservant?” he asked.

“I sent the others away while ye slept, my lord, as soon as ye first stirred,” she explained apologetically. “I made sure they did not hear anything through the night.”

He firmed his jaw. He did not need coddling. “Leave,” he demanded, sending her a harsh look. “I am not a child.”

“Nay, my lord,” she giggled, openly staring at his muscled legs.

He rolled his eyes. “Are you always this impertinent?” he asked, inwardly pleased that she did not shy away from talking with him like most servants.

“Indeed,” she said with pride.

He did not care for the grooming, nor the blade which scraped along his cheeks. He clenched his teeth and allowed her to adjust his clothing, making him fit to wed their savage King. He did not look in the mirror that she held before him.

She dropped her hand, sighing as she placed the mirror on a stand by his bed. “Very well, my lord.” She stepped back after brushing his shoulders and placed her finger on her chin. “He is a good King,” she said pleadingly. “Ye will see that it is so.”

He held his tongue and slowly followed her out of the chamber.

Two of the king’s guards immediately followed behind them, a slow walk since he could not move as when he’d been well. Apparently, the sickness had settled deep within his body, trapping him to this fate.

He did not miss the strangeness of the corridor as they walked. The long ride had taken him to the barbarians’ home, after all. Dimly lit, he saw fangs and furs and bones hanging on the walls surrounding him. There were no colorful banners, no gentle melodies of a harp drifting from the rooms, nothing that claimed they were an amicable people.

They came to open doors, but not a single light appeared in the room ahead. It was as dark as their hearts, he thought.

“Come,” a voice boomed.

He sucked in a breath. ‘Twas the King with a voice so thunderous.

Gaila dipped her head, indicating that he must proceed without her.

He clenched his hands into fists and lifted his chin. He would make his father proud. He would do what he must. At whatever cost. He was already alone. His friends had perished from the fever that had ravaged their bodies for weeks. He’d sent his loyal steward ahead to find help, but he’d never returned.

James could only assume that he had sent him too late, when they’d all been in the throes of the ravaging fever. He must have succumbed to the sickness and died like so many of the others, but along the trail.

“Are you so meek of a prince?” the King called out loudly. “Come.”

He bowed his head humbly and made his way to the front of the room, a light slowly emerging to guide his path. He could not help but peer from under his lashes at the silhouette of the man he was to marry. His steps faltered when he saw what had to be a mask across the King’s face.

It did nothing to reveal his features, who this barbarian was, only exaggerate the strong lines of his face and make him look more ominous.

All of the Huntsmen had thick, muscular bodies, long hair, and a beard—this man was no different.

Yet he could not walk any faster. The fever that had struck him had done its work. It could take him weeks to regain all of his strength. And what of his wedding night? He was not fit for savage lovemaking.

He would either be humiliated by this King or killed by morning, he was sure, if he could not hold up his end of the bargain.

What had the Huntsman betrayed him to? A harsh life, for which he was ill-prepared.

He reached the front and stopped beside the King. Three others waited, standing still in the darkness, save for the small light flickering by a man who must be the friar.

“Look at me,” the King said softly.

The gentle tone surprising, he looked up before he could stop himself. The mask did not hide the King’s eyes, which searched his face.

What was underneath the mask? Was he even more horrid than he was famed to be? He averted his eyes before they revealed his fear, and took note of the bearing and clothing. The man before him wore an ensemble that showed off his endless, broad shoulders and trim waist. He also wore several signet rings on bare, unstained hands.

James blinked. “You do not have blood on your hands.”

King Leonard's jaw clenched as if he’d angered him. “Nay,” he gritted out. Turning to the friar, he nodded. “He is unwell. Let us tarry no longer,” he said coolly. “Begin.”

Mind spinning, James could not remember the numerous words spoken and repeated between them, some in a language he did not understand. Nor did he remember signatures added to the scroll, which included his own. Indeed, he was more concerned with the eyes watching him like a hawk observes his prey. The hand that now grasped his, engulfing it in his own. The body which pressed possessively into his when all was silent.

“My bride, ‘tis done,” King Leonard murmured. “We are married.”

His face warmed. Bride? In all his years, he’d considered himself on the other side at his own wedding.

King Leonard nodded curtly. “Come.”

“Aye, my lord,” he said obediently, walking beside him.

“You may call me Leonard,” the barbarian commanded. “Not my lord. I will have my bride as my equal when it suits me.”

Nay, he did not wish to stoop to such…familiarity. For then, he would think of this man as his husband, not an enemy.

“Aye, my lord,” he said in defiance, breathing heavily.

He was relieved to see ornately carved double doors ahead. It must be the king’s chambers. He must have a chair.

Leonard sighed and glanced sideways at him. “I have spoken with your people and learned of the sickness which plagued your lands. I heard that you have been ill, Prince James. We will remain in these quarters however long it takes.”

_However long it takes..._

His face heated more.

“Do you always blush so?” Leonard asked, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Will you blush in my bed?”

He stiffened, doing his best not to flinch. Consummation was a necessary part of every royal marriage.

But with this barbarian...

“Nay, my lord,” he bit out, but his voice quivered. “My people? They are unharmed?”

The questions appeared to have caught the King off guard.

He narrowed his eyes on James. “They are unharmed and finding their place here. They are more agreeable after a night’s rest. You may look in on them from the window of our room if you wish.”

He was confused. He’d only slept a little.

“‘Tis the morrow, my prince,” Leonard said as the doors opened.

James felt faint. He had slept the night away?

Leonard looked him over and grasped his arm, pulling him inside. He glanced over his shoulders at the guards and three manservants.  
“Leave us,” he commanded.

The doors shut with a thud.

He wanted to die.

“Sit,” Leonard said, guiding him to a chair by the fire.

He sank into the seat, his head dropping into his hands. He wished to melt into the floor by the fire.

Disappear.

Wake up from this nightmare.

His life was now in the hands of a merciless and murderous, faceless King who’d stolen his father’s memory.

“You are not well,” Leonard murmured, standing beside him. He tipped James’s chin up as the Huntsman had in the forest and peered into his eyes.

“He tricked me,” he said harshly.

The King nodded. “I am sorry.”

The apology was strangely comforting but not warm enough to rid him of his bitterness. His life was unraveling.

“I had thought you’d be able to handle our brief ceremony,” Leonard mused. “Alas, you can barely hold yourself up. You are a babe. You must rest, my prince.”

“I am not your prince,” he whispered.

“By law you are mine,” Leonard said in a low growl, his eyes afire and emphasized by the mask. “By law you will do as I say. If you do not, I will have you thrown into my prison.”

He could not respond to that. ‘Twas the truth. He was bound to him. With no thanks to the Huntsman.

“You must lie down,” Leonard continued.

“Nay,” he bristled despite the king’s warning.

If he should fall asleep, this man would soon know his darkest secret.

“Aye, you will listen,” Leonard insisted, and lifted him into his arms like he weighed nothing. “But I see that I must take matters in my own hands.”

He made the mistake of looking up at him, his head dropping across his arm. The King’s chin was tempting, his jaw more so. He must be addled in the brain, for he reached up and touched him, this man he'd been forced to wed. This man who’d stolen his father’s lands for his own cruel purposes.

His finger pressed against the rough patch of skin and beard at the mask’s edge. What would it feel like, this beard rubbing across his own smooth face? What would it feel like, to have his lips hunger for his?

He breathed out slowly in anguish. What was he thinking? He could not possibly want him. That wanting was a slap to his father’s memory.

This King was the enemy.

“Nay, my prince.” Leonard laid him on the bed, his hair falling forward and brushing James’s face. His eyes darkened as he pulled away. “Do not tempt me. You are not ready, as much as it pains me to say so.”

The masked man's eyes penetrated him. Fathomless brown orbs holding a mystery. He vowed to someday uncover it.

He could not look away. Neither did the King.

Not until his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please, review? 
> 
> (Chapter Three is now complete - I hope to double update with 3&4 by the end of this week.)


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today! 
> 
> Thanks to diamondblue4 for the beta! :)

 

Leonard stood beside his bed, staring down at James while he slept, just as he had intermittently over the past hour. Make no mistake, he was a cruel man when necessary. But he had found a new delight in watching his husband sleep, perfectly relaxed in his bed.

He couldn’t remember feeling this way about anyone before. It could consume him, this watching, but he peeled his gaze from his prize and went to stoke the fire since he'd sent all of his servants away.

In turmoil, he poked at the logs and watched them spark. In matters of war, and in war itself, he showed no mercy. He willingly fed the abounding, ugly rumors about him and his huntsmen in every way possible, especially in war and even in times of peace. He killed ruthlessly to survive, raised his sword with a hearty cry to rally his men, made his prisoners tremble with fear at the mere mention of his name—but all for the sake of his kingdom and to survive.

His people knew him to laugh when he ate at their tables, smile at their playful children, grow somber when one of their own was put in a grave. They understood that he wore the mask for their safety, though he had no need to do so for his own sake.

He had many sides, the most grievous facet the only one that mattered. If Nero thought for one moment that he was like so many other noble rulers, including Prince James and his father before him, he would have come to his lands and fought to the death years ago. His lands were the richest of soil, the only ones with a passage through the mountains and, beyond those, the lands from whence more riches came. Because of his ruthlessness, the very sword which cut throats in battle, Nero had not dared to cross him.

His years of endless riding and fighting had served him well. He was known as a barbarian throughout the land because of it. His mask a necessity. His power had strengthened, his lands increased, people fearing him ever since young and old alike began weaving their horrible tales about him.

He was savage, yes, but only in the tales spun over bread and wine hundreds of miles away—and whilst warring with his enemies.

Prince James and his people were not his enemies.

He’d always respected King George, though they’d never met face-to-face. King George had breathed his last fifteen years ago, just days before Leonard had become a young king, his own father passing. Queen Winona had continued to rule after her husband’s death, but she’d died once her son had come of age. Rumors were that it had been of a broken heart.

He had held many rulers across the cluster of islands in high regard, like King George and Queen Winona. Sir Nero he did not. He was more tyrant than King.

Thus, for the sake of everyone, even those not under his rule, he’d become what they’d needed him to be. A barbarian. A savage. A Huntsman. A brutal, unforgiving man. Someone Nero himself would fear.

But now, as he waited in a chair beside his sleeping husband, waiting for him to awaken, he wished he could take it all back. If only for a moment. What would it be like for his husband to look at him without distaste in his eyes? Or without fear? And instead, adoration?

He sighed. He’d admit to purposefully irritating James, if only to discover those things which bothered him. Like calling him ‘bride.’ He was also partial to the fire in his eyes, a trait he was certain would appear more and more as his ‘bride’ healed from his illness. Aye, he loved to provoke him already, but he’d never wanted to cause him such fear.

The rustling of covers sounded behind him. Leonard glanced back at the bed to see his husband thrashing around, throwing a cover partially off. He frowned when the younger man moaned in his sleep, a low, anguished sound. He walked back to the bed and, after pulling the cover over him, clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to touch him, to lace his fingers through James’s, this man he hardly knew, but he hungrily took in his features while he slept, instead.

Sinking to a chair, his heart could not help but race, knowing that this Prince was his. He’d chosen him for his bravery, not for his royal blood nor for his pleasing looks. But now that he knew who he truly was, he would never relinquish the hold he had on him. He belonged to him, body and, someday, soul. He was certain of this. Once they made love, he would be completely his. He’d pleasure him in ways the younger man had never even dreamed of, making James yearn for his hands to touch him in bed, yearn for his very presence beside him under the covers.

He’d discover what pleasured him soon, but not soon enough. Despite his vulnerability, James was a strong, proud man who needed to be broken first.

There was a rap at his door.

He sighed again. They knew not to disturb him now. “Leave me,” he said loudly, throwing a cautious look at James.

His husband’s head moved restlessly on his pillow but he did not awaken.

“My lord, forgive me, but I must speak with you,” a feminine voice pleaded outside the door. “If ye have a moment, my lord.”

He flattened his mouth, recalling his confusion when he'd learned that she'd been the one to help James, not one of the manservants. Gaila knew her place. Usually. She was also the most compassionate, no doubt doing all that she could to put James at ease. More so than the other servants. She had a disarming way about her that James was sure to have appreciated.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly becoming jealous of what he had not seen. His massive body caused the chair to creak with his weight. He stood carefully, still eyeing the form on the bed. Aye, he’d be jealous of anyone who paid attention to his husband. Perhaps he should take advantage of this marriage, this honeymoon, and James’s recovery—and keep him hidden from the outside world as long as possible.

It suddenly occurred that others, just like him, had kept James from the outside world all these years since his father’s death. Whereas he had a reason to do so, a selfish reason, the others would have had one, too.

What had been their cause?

“My lord,” she called out, rapping at the door again.

He growled and turned to the door in one swift movement. James had begun to stir more, no doubt his fault for making such noise as well as Gaila’s for disrupting what should be their honeymoon. They could have been undressed, in the act—

She rapped a third time. He scowled and sulked at the interruption but made his way to the door. Forsooth. The woman had no shame.

He opened it to a crack and cocked an eye at the petite redhead. She wore no veil, no cap, and her eyes were wide with innocence though he was certain she knew what she could have been interrupting.

“My lord,” she breathed.

His scowl deepened. “‘Tis not a good time.”

She swallowed and bobbed a curtsey. “My lord, forgive me. I must speak with you, that is, if... _he_ …”

He sighed heavily. “Say your peace, and go on with ye.”

She took a breath. “I must speak with you alone, my lord, if Prince James is asleep.” She paused. “About...Prince James.”

He looked at her curiously. “Do you know something I do not?”

She averted her eyes. “Aye, my lord.”

He would be a fool to turn her away, but ‘twas not the secret he wanted out, that he’d let his bride sleep the night away.

“Thy husband,” she whispered, trying to peer beyond his broad shoulders. “He is asleep?”

Somehow he realized that she'd just known James would be sleeping. She hadn't needed to ask. He opened the door wider, letting her in.

She scurried in like a mouse, quiet but purposeful and straight to the prize—James. She bent over him, dipping a cloth in a small bottle and dabbing his forehead with it.

“Egads, woman, what are you doing?” he shouted.

He made it to her side in three large strides and grabbed her wrist. He held her arm firmly in the air, knowing full well that his fingers would leave bruises, and shot her a glare. He had no qualms stopping her from whatever she was doing. This was his husband. A near perfect creature that was his. Besides, he only planned to marry _once_.

Though his husband dying on their wedding night would be a gruesome enough tale to add to the other elaborate horror stories about his person, he did not wish for it to happen. Nay, he would willingly die first.

“I knew you were a witch,” he accused, sending her a scathing look.

She stared back unflinchingly. “Nay, my lord, I am no witch. Only a woman wise in herbal lore. He has not told you.”

“Told me what?” he gritted out. “What are you doing to him?”

“He—”

A guttural cry came from his bed, an animalistic shriek that continued, unabated. It curled his toes like the hyenas’ screams at night. His hair stood on end, the sound traveling up his spine like crooked, bony fingers.

His heart lurched to his throat as he glanced down. He wanted to deny what he saw—but he could not.

James thrashed about as if someone were attacking him, his limbs flailing wildly, knocking into the wall at his head with a thud. When he saw the anguish on his husband’s face, all he wanted to do was stop it for his sake.

“Nay, what is this?” he said hoarsely, his voice lost in the savage noises that James made, coupled with harsh sobs that wracked his thin frame, as if he'd gone mad.

“Grab his hands, my lord,” Gaila hissed, already reaching for one. “Before he hurts himself.”

Leonard caught his other hand, collapsing on the bed as leverage to hold his chest down as well. Despite suffering from the fever recently, he was still strong. James continued to shriek, not awake, or even coming to. He bucked into the wall, his head thudding against it before Leonard was able to restrain him.

Leonard took a deep breath, holding on to James as tightly as he could, anything to stop him from harming himself more with his wild motions.

“What is this?” he gritted. “Do you know?”

“Terrors,” she whispered, caressing James’s forehead, wiping the perspiration off his temple.

“Nightmares?”

“Night terrors. I heard of his affliction a long time ago from me mum, when she worked as a maid for Queen Winona. He had suffered from them as a child, never to outgrow them. Not only terrors, my lord, but more. Crippling him. ‘Tis true, my lord. ‘Tis true.”

He heard her, but could not believe it.

“‘Tis true,” she whispered again.

“What more is there?” he asked.

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Answer me,” he insisted harshly.

At that moment, James’s cries suddenly stopped, his eyes opening to stare up sightlessly at the ceiling.

“James,” Leonard whispered.

The man’s chest heaved up and down, as if he could not catch a breath. He pushed against Leonard’s body, muttering a series of words he could not decipher, over and over as if it were a chant in an abbey. He clawed at Leonard’s chest with thin, desperate fingers, the picture of an uncontrollable lunacy.

Egads! Had he married a madman?

“Let him go, my lord,” Gaila said as their struggles continued. “He wants to get up!”

“What?” Leonard asked in disbelief. “Nay! He could injure himself—”

“He needs to get up,” she insisted.

“To sleepwalk? Wander aimlessly?” He shook his head. “I will not allow him to do so. He could injure himself if he walks around, unaware.”

He could fall, trip, end up in the fire.

“Oh, he is aware, my lord,” she said. “He...he needs—”

“He did this last night, didn’t he?” he demanded.

She nodded quickly, lurching back when James’s hand slipped from her hold and knocked her in the face.

“Oof!” she exclaimed, her hand covering the offended area.

He looked at her worriedly but could not let go of James to help her.

“I...I am fine, my lord,” she murmured. “‘Tis nothing of concern.”

Leonard gripped James’s shoulders, forcing him back down to lay on the bed. “James,” he said, willing him to look into his eyes and recognize him. “Can you hear me?”

“He can’t.”

“Let me try,” he countered, his husband’s cries heartbreaking to him in a way he could not describe.

“My fault,” James muttered, tears streaming down his face. He stared up with wide eyes, but unseeingly. “Fault. M-my fault.”

He glanced up at Gaila. “What does he mean, his fault?”

She blinked as if confused before realization dawned on her face. “That was what he said last night, my lord. Let him go,” she replied, stepping back.

“I will not,” he snapped.

‘‘Tis part of the healing process, my lord,” she argued. “He must...he must do what he needs to. ‘Twas what my mother said helped him. Calmed him at the end.”

He growled, but released him. “And I'm the barbarian?” he taunted. “‘Twill be your head if he is hurt.”

She bit her lip. “Aye. So be it.”

He opened his mouth to chide her for her impertinence, but James slipped out of his bed as she’d predicted.

Leonard held his breath as his husband’s eyes wandered around the room, searching for something.

“What—”

“Wait,” she whispered.

James padded over to Leonard’s writing desk and felt around the edges of the drawers. He pulled on one handle, and methodically removed several items. First, a quill pen. Next was the bottle of ink, which he set at the corner of the desk. Lastly, a sheet of paper, which he set down, almost reverently. He smoothed the paper with both hands, though it had no wrinkles, and opened the bottle. He dipped the pen in the ink and, with an elegant sweep of his hand, began to write.

Leonard stared at him in amazement, not fully comprehending this sudden shift from _animal_ to scholar whilst in this state. Or how James knew where his writing instruments were in the first place.

He came to James’s side, looming over him while reading his script.

It was beautiful. Meticulous. A wonder, each arch and loop in perfect form. How did he manage to do so while sleepwalking?

“Forgive me,” Leonard murmured aloud. “Forgive me. My fault. My fault. Father. Mother. Chekov. Spock. George. Father…”

He sucked in a breath as James added name after name, repeating several with each line. With each line, his fingers became more stained with ink but there was nary a smudge on the paper.

“‘Tis the same as last night,” Gaila whispered behind him.

He jerked his head around to stare at her. “The paper? The writing?”

“Aye,” she said, nodding vigorously.

“Where is the evidence?” he asked doubtfully, seeing no stray sheet of paper around the room.

She hesitated.

“Where?” he demanded.

“In the fire, my lord,” she whispered, head bowed.

He envisioned the beautiful script, laid to waste.

Mixed with coals.

Gone.

“You _destroyed_ it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on her in anger.

He would have kept the evidence, in hopes that he could learn from it. Discover why James behaved this way. Keep it for himself. It was beautiful.

She blushed. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she whispered, eyes darting to him and back to the floor. “I...I thought it best at the time. He is...ashamed about his...his weakness.”

“His insanity?” he said tightly, ready to pluck the pen from his husband’s fingers and end this.

“Nay,” she exclaimed, widening her eyes. “‘Tisn’t insanity.”

He scowled at her.

Her cheeks tinged pink. “Forgive me,” she murmured, nervously brushing her curls from her shoulders. “‘Tis a condition.”

“Madness,” he snarled. “‘Tis _madness_.

She lifted her chin, her eyes flickering with determination. “If his is madness, then yours is—”

“Quiet!” he ordered.

Her mouth snapped shut. He looked at her with disguised guilt. His savagery was, indeed, far worse than his husband’s madness.

“Say another word and you will spend a fortnight in my dungeon,” he warned her sharply.

“My fault,” James muttered, still scrawling. “Father…”

Leonard turned his head, his attention back on James.

James’s hand suddenly darted across his paper in scattered form. His breath came in short gasps, as erratic as his script. “Father. Spock. Mother. Ashton. Stephen. Mother. George—”

Them, as soon as it had started, it stopped. In a fanfare of silence, James’s arms dropped to his sides, his body suddenly limp as a rag, the pen slipping from his fingers.

Leonard caught him before he slumped to the floor and gathered him into his arms.

Gaila snatched the paper, her skirts fanning as she turned and made for the fire.

“Nay!” he barked, stopping her before she threw the paper into the flames. “‘Tis too important to destroy.”

She hesitated, and whirled back around no doubt wanting to protest to her King, to protect James from seeing his madness in written form.

A worthy cause but he wanted this evidence for himself.

“I will keep it,” he explained, softening his voice. “‘Twill be in my care. He will never know of its existence.”

“He will know he did it, my lord.”

“Aye,” he said quietly, nodding. “And the King will approach him with the utmost compassion.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Aye, my lord,” she said resignedly, placing it on the desk.

He looked down somberly at the man he’d married in a whirlwind decision fueled by desire. James’s eyes were closed, lashes fanned over his fair skin. His lips were parted and breaths peaceful, as if he’d never broken his sleep with terror and walking in the night like the undead.

Nay, he did not need to break James.

His near perfect Prince was already broken.

He needed to be wooed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please, review? :)


	4. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update of the day. :)

 

The spot beside him on the bed was untouched. Cold. Empty.

His husband was gone.

Feeling hollow inside, James turned his body and curled into a ball, the tears of rejection stinging his eyes all too familiar. It never failed. His lovers, as few in number as they were, always left once they knew. Now the King knew his darkest secret and had already departed from his side.

‘Twas shameful. Not even a barbaric King wanted him. He’d said they’d remain in this room until they’d consummated the marriage. Nay, ‘twas a lie. A falsehood. He’d left. Vanished.

He was alone once more. What was to become of him?

Hating the self-pity welling in his chest, James forced himself to uncurl his body and leave the warmth of his bed. He slipped from under the covers and stood—but far too quickly. He wavered on his feet, the room spinning around him like it usually did when he was overzealous in the morning. Rueing his present condition, yet thankful that he was alone, he pressed a hand to his head.

Egads. If the King were here, ‘twould be another weakness for him to see.

His mother had never lost hope that despite his affliction, he would someday rule like his father. Well and nobly.

King James? _Ha_.

His madness had ruined him. He was not even worthy of the title _Prince_.

After the dizziness passed, he looked around, spying a tray of food and drink on the desk from the corner of his eye. He narrowed his gaze on the tray and found the meal pleasing to his palate. He looked some more and discovered clean clothing—a shirt, vest, jacket, and breeches—hanging from hooks on the wall.

Someone had been thoughtful enough to bring him food and fresh clothing. He dared not believe that it had been under the King’s orders. Why would he trouble himself with such trivial matters? He had, after all, taken over James’s kingdom without a second thought, adding people and riches to his bounty.

Perhaps Gaila had taken it upon herself to take provide for his basic needs.

He stared hungrily at the food, but dressed himself first. He’d be ready to be led down long corridors to the King’s prison, having retained some of his honor at the very least. He wouldn’t walk to his fate while looking unkept.

The clothes fit as if they’d been made for him. The blue cloth matched the color of his eyes, the fabric soft like he preferred it to be, without the stiffness and roughness of servants’ clothing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror Gaila had left. Was this how the King dressed all of his consorts? Making them as pleasing to his eye as possible?

Aye. He would have done the same, had he still had a Kingdom to rule.

Gritting his teeth, he tugged at his billowing sleeves, the bit of lace at his throat tickling his skin as he moved.

He reached up to scratch his neck, completely unprepared for the bedroom doors to creak open without warning.

He held his breath as a man’s footsteps sounded behind him, a confident stride forward without a greeting. He closed his eyes, sweat beading his forehead. King Leonard had returned. The time of his sentence was at hand.

He turned his body, preparing to see the King’s scowl below the mask—and froze.

‘Twas not the King.

But the Huntsman.

He rolled his shoulders and glared at the figure who carried an armful of wood into his bedroom. “You,” he said harshly.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the Huntsman said, as casually as if they were friends.

James stewed, irritated that he’d intruded without so much as a knock of warning. “Are servants here always this forward?”

The Huntsman sent him a wounded look, which softened his handsome, rugged features.

Heat stirred in the pit of James’s belly, but he did not look away.

“I am no servant, my lord,” the man replied, tone hurt.

James inclined his head to the pile of wood he set by the hearth. “Your actions tell me otherwise.”

The Huntsman added to the woodpile and straightened. “Indeed,” he said evenly. “You have found me out, my lord.”

James rolled his eyes and turned his back to him, expecting him to leave. Wanting the betrayer to leave. He sighed, yet not with relief. His fate was still undetermined, and the waiting was worse than the knowing. He reached for a biscuit—hand stopping mid-air when the Huntsman spoke again.

“Where is thy bridegroom, my lord?”

 _Where is thy bridegroom?_ As if he didn’t know. It was obvious.

He clenched his teeth, the resentment building in his chest like before. “‘Tis not enough that you tricked me? You must taunt me that he is not here?”

The Huntsman’s hearty laughter filled the room.

James spun around, his stomach empty and his heart soon following.

The other man’s laugh came to a slow stop, but he did not cease smiling at him with his eyes. “I am not taunting you, my lord. I ask, only because you look...forlorn.”

James could not find the proper words to make an immediate response. If the Huntsman had not relinquished him to the King, would he have left him after discovering his secret? The Huntsmen were cruel, but also brave men. He could not deny them that. It seemed possible that the Huntsman would have viewed James as a challenge and stayed.

At one time, he would have let this man touch him without reservation. He would have leaned into his physical responses. But not now. Nay, if he is forlorn it is because of him.

“Leave,” he said harshly. “You've made it quite obvious that I am no one to you.”

The Huntsman dropped his smile.

Dismissing him again with a cold shoulder, and not wanting to stare into his probing eyes, James sat down at the desk. He picked up the biscuit he’d wanted earlier and ate it slowly. Each morning, he awakened famished, most likely the result of the energy he expended during his nightly episodes. He’d quickly learned that he could not fill himself like he had before when he was a boy. Otherwise, he would become sick. He had to take his time, allow the food to settle, keep his portions small. But the food teased his senses, and he had not eaten since…

Nay, he could not remember when he’d last filled his belly. He’d gone without, asking his loyal men to go hungry as well, in an effort to spare the children who had survived.

He couldn't help but eat his biscuit eagerly, forgoing his own advice. His hand shook as he drank from his cup to swallow it down.

“Here, my lord,” the Huntsman said softly beside him when he’d finished.

James blinked, confused as to why he had not realized the man had been standing there. He glanced up at him with a furrowed brow.

The Huntsman lifted a ladle, eyes strangely warm. James peered into it. It held the same murky drink that Gaila had served him.

He swallowed, wanting it, yet hating that it was _him_ who would serve it to him. This was a medicinal drink, mixed with herbs. He remembered it now. His mother used to have Cook make it for him as a child.

How had Gaila known this particular concoction was what had always calmed him? How had the Huntsman known to serve it to him?

“My lord,” the Huntsman urged. “Gaila told me to make sure you drank this.”

“Only half a glass,” he ordered, keeping himself still as the other man stretched over him, his broad shoulders and massive chest distracting as he poured the drink into his cup.

As he tipped the ladle, James observed that the Huntsman’s gloves fit his hands perfectly. But instead of the black gloves he’d worn in battle, they were a pale brown. They emphasized his long and slender fingers, that his hands were strong, like the King’s.

He couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized when those same hands spread jelly onto his other biscuit, a jelly that James had somehow missed when he’d first glanced at the tray. He also stirred his porridge, adding a pinch of cinnamon to it, the smoothness of his motion alluring.

His mouth watered. From the food—or him—he wasn’t sure.

The Huntsman cleared his throat.

He jerked his eyes away. Cheeks burning, he looked down at his lap in an attempt to right himself. He should not have looked at him with such longing. Why had he done that? He could not betray the King. Nay, he did not want to betray him.

With any luck, the Huntsman hadn’t noticed.

“You may go,” he said breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut.

The Huntsman made no move to leave. Was he amused to have caught him staring? Or had he just assumed he was watching...the food?

He could not eat with him beside him. Not now.

“I’d like to eat alone,” he gritted. He opened his eyes and stared ahead, not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him.

“Aye, my lord,” the Huntsman said easily.

Yet, he made no move to leave _again_.

James sighed, irritated yet at the same time unnerved by the Huntsman’s stubbornness. More so by his close proximity. He smelled clean, like pine and incense and something else he could not pinpoint. It was comforting, more comforting than waking up alone.

“My lord, are you...feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” he gritted out.

The Huntsman clasped his hands behind his back, broadening his stance.

James kneaded his forehead. Just what he needed. A guard dog. “Why are you here?” he whispered tightly, though he was slowly figuring it out on his own. King Leonard had ordered that he be sent to his prison, where all witches and insane men spent the rest of their sorry lives. “Why stay?”

“I am to watch over you, my lord.”

He glanced up sharply at him. “We all know where this is going to end.”

“What?” The Huntsman frowned.

“You don’t have to act ignorant for my sake,” James said, standing. He didn’t match his height, especially without boots, but it didn’t deter him from approaching him. He stared up at the Huntsman, lifting his chin in defiance. “It would be easier if you just told me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the other man said, scratching his chin.

“When am I to go?” he asked.

The Huntsman's eyes widened. “Go?”

“There is no need to wait,” James said quietly.

“I do not know...or understand, my lord.” The Huntsman’s eyes were pleading.

James did not believe him. “When did he tell you?” he gritted. “Who else knows? Is this my last meal before I am sent to your King’s prison?”

The Huntsman’s mouth dropped open.

James felt the weight of his madness strangle him. “Don’t take me as a fool. At least allow me to write a letter.”

The Huntsman’s mouth snapped shut. He blinked at him, a look of bewilderment on his face.

He scowled back. “Take the food away. I will not be eating this meal of...of pity,” he spat.

The Huntsman’s mouth gaped again.

With a heavy, defeated sigh, James turned and sank wearily back into his seat. “Tell your lord that I am ready.”

“Nay,” the Huntsman said hoarsely. “I will not.”

James shook his head. “Nay?”

He did not understand this Huntsman, after all.

“King Leonard is not...not sending you to prison,” the Huntsman said slowly. “I do not know why you would think that he is.”

James stiffened. “He did not tell you...of my...affliction?”

“That you were ill? Like your people?”

James swallowed. Could it be? Was the King extending him mercy? He’d never heard of such a thing. He wasn’t sure that his father, had he been in a similar situation, would have allowed someone he’d married to go free—if they were, indeed, given to moments of madness.

He glanced sideways at the Huntsman. “The truth. Please. I am not…” He drew a breath. “ _Well_ enough for you to toy with me.”

The Huntsman shook his head. “I do not toy with you, my lord. I know naught of any other affliction. And as the king's most trusted friend, I can say assuredly that he would never throw his own husband, a man for whom he carries affection—”

His cheeks burned. _Affection?_

“— into the dungeon.”

His eyes stung. Egads, this was not what he had expected. _Mercy_.

The Huntsman looked down at him, expression filling with pity. “Perhaps you should return to bed and sleep, my lord. King Leonard shall return once he’s met his match.”

“Met his match?” James echoed, his interest piqued.

A slow smile formed on the Huntsman’s face, lighting his handsome features. “Aye. He loves the sword.”

“Like you,” he retorted without a second thought.

Aye, he’d take the words back. At times, his mouth was too fast for his common sense.

The Huntsman lifted a smug brow. “Indeed, my lord.”

“He will return,” he said slowly, wanting affirmation.

“Aye, but may I suggest you watch from the window? Until his return?”

James glanced at the window, curious. “I can watch from here?”

“Aye,” the Huntsman said softly. “He made sure of it.”

James wasn’t sure he could pull himself to his feet again. He hadn’t eaten enough.

“Come,” the Huntsman said, holding out his gloved hand. “Allow me to assist you, my lord.”

He blinked at the gloved hand, imagining the red stains covering it.

“Please,” the Huntsman insisted. “I am to watch over you.”

James had no other way to escape this desk—or his morose mood. Watching the King would be better than being alone with his dark thoughts. Resigned, he grasped his hand, feeling the other man’s strength as he pulled him up. No wonder he’d been able to lift his body onto his horse.

He let go of his hand once he was standing. The Huntsman bowed his head and motioned with his arm. “After you, my lord.”

James made his way to the window, unaware of the cold floor against his bare feet. His heart raced, his thoughts whirling in his mind just as fast. Was the King merely giving him time to himself? What about...their marriage bed?

He stared out the window, quickly finding a band of huntsman dueling behind a wall.

He thought he saw him, a masked man with the same build and height of his husband. He sucked in a breath when he stumbled back defending himself.

“Aye, but he is fine, my lord,” the Huntsman said softly. “‘Tis for sport.”

He firmed his jaw. These barbarians toyed with people in more ways than one. “Why did you go back on your word?” he asked without looking at the Huntsman.

The Huntsman sighed. “Twas for your benefit. The king can protect you...in ways that I cannot.”

James swallowed. He did not know what to make of that answer. “Is that all?” he rasped.

He felt the other man’s eyes on his back.

“Is that the only reason?” he pressed.

“Nay,” the Huntsman admitted. “The King is quite taken with you.”

“He saw me? Asleep?” James turned around sharply. “Who else?”

The Huntsman looked taken aback. “Gaila, my lord. She sent the other servants away.”

James nodded. “Aye, she said as much.”

The Huntsman peered past him and nodded towards the window. “Did you see your people, my lord? They work in the field our king has given them.”

Eager to see that the king had been true to this word, James searched the horizon once more. He smiled with relief when he saw two faces in particular. Kevin. His sister, Janice. Two older youth who had, thankfully, survived the fever. “Aye, I see them,” he murmured.

“Shall I inform King Leonard that you’ve awakened?”

James’s eyes flitted back to the swordsman. “I do not wish to interrupt him.”

The Huntsman made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Nay, I know the King well enough to say that you would never be an interruption, my lord,” he said smoothly. “Never.”

James turned his head, hopefully hiding his scorching cheeks. He felt like an insecure youth on the cusp of manhood. As he always did when talk of his weakness came about—or flirting or insinuations of any kind.

“I shall take my leave now, my lord,” the Huntsman said quietly, moving achingly close to him.

If he stumbled, he’d brush up against his shoulders. If he turned, James would be in his arms.

He gripped the window ledge. He would not look back at the Huntsman’s large, capable, sword-wielding hands.

Worse, yet, stare into his eyes.

He’d fought the laws of attraction for years, thanks to his affliction, only to lose himself for a moment with the Huntsman in the woods, when he’d accepted his offer of marriage. That man was, in essence, his enemy. His betrayer.

He would not make the same mistake twice. Neither would he jeopardize his status with the king.

“Prince James?” the Huntsman murmured, his breath hot against his ear.

He barely suppressed a shiver.

“Aye,” he said hoarsely. His knuckles whitened as he resisted the urge to lean into him, feel the touch of his lips instead of his breath. “Please tell the King...that I...I am ready.”

He stood straight and tall until the presence behind him disappeared. The Huntsman’s footsteps diminished, pausing, however, just as he relaxed his shoulders.

“My lord.”

James stiffened. “Aye.”

“Your letter,” the Huntsman said slowly. “To whom would you have sent it?”

He sucked in a breath. He’d never expected him to ask such a question.

“Forgive me,” the Huntsman murmured. “I was too forward.”

“A friend,” he whispered sadly.

A friend who had most likely perished.

“Eat, Prince James,” the Huntsman said softly. “The King will soon return.”

James did not loosen his grip, not until the door creaked again, only to be pulled shut.

As he returned to his desk to eat, thinking of the Huntsman the entire way, he realized that he'd never thought to ask for his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Pease, review? :)


	5. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the others. :D I went a little nuts...I blame Nano.
> 
> Thank you diamondblue4 and junker5 for the beta! XX

Heeding the Huntsman’s direction—for an unknown reason James could not explain other than that he’d asked him to do so—he consumed the last of his meal, down to the lost drop of the warm, herbal remedy.

He spent the rest of his time alone at the open window, gazing down at a man whose swordsmanship challenged the rest of the huntsmen and surpassed most or not all of the swordsmen he knew. Including Sulu, a childhood friend who had moved with his husband to the countryside within King Christopher’s realm, the very man he’d sent Spock to find.

James’s heart pinched with pain. Christopher would have wanted to witness his best friend’s son’s wedding. In fact, he knew it to be so, having heard it from Christopher’s own lips in the spring.

_One day, James, someone will realize how special you are. You will be swept off of your feet. I cannot wait to be there to see it._

Their last visit, nary a groom in sight at the time.

But Christopher's absence wasn’t what hurt the most.

Spock had been James’s faithful steward—and friend—to his death.

He’d left the castle walls only at James’s command, despite the warmth emanating from his own skin, the fever that had begun as it had in so many others. A fortnight had been plenty of time for Spock to reach Christopher and return. No word simply meant he had passed.

‘Twas his fault and his alone.

Nay, he should never have sent him on a fool’s errand. At the time, he had thought he’d been doing Spock a favor, forcing him to leave a dying Kingdom before it was too late. He’d been addled in the brain, he was sure of it. Awake. Asleep. It mattered naught. Madness was madness.

He looked back down at the huntsmen fencing before his melancholy swallowed him whole.

He lost himself in watching. Clearly, the King’s skills rose above the rest. He couldn’t postulate how he’d acquired this level of skill for long, for it brought to mind mounds of slit throats and smoldering castles, a wildly long-haired, masked man departing from the destruction as if hell itself hounded his back.

He had married a dangerous man. He wasn’t even sure if he was a learned man, like he was. King Leonard’s barbaric lifestyle did not lend itself to tutoring or fine dinners and dancing.

Yet, despite the roughened nature of his looks and mannerisms, there was something about Leonard that had softened when his attention focused solely on his captured bride. The kind words. The avoidance of the marriage bed for the sake of James’s health, which was a heavy consideration from a King.

Against all logic, he desperately hoped that Leonard’s ministrations had not been fleeting, that the way he’d held him last night had not been the last of his tender touches. If what the Huntsman had said was true, that he would not be sent to prison, then the time would soon come when he was to submit to the King and lie with him in his bed.

His body warming, James fiddled with the lace at his throat in an effort to loosen his shirt. The swordsmen paused their fighting, then found a seat or refreshment, leaving the King standing alone until a young boy offered him water. Leonard patted the child on his head, then tipped his head back for a drink, exposing the bare skin of his throat.

Jim’s heart lurched. His neck was not the only naked skin he saw. When Leonard next doused his head with the water, shaking his head of excess, he could not look away. The water dripped down his head and his shoulders, soaking his shirt and causing it to cling like a second skin to his body.

He was the epitome of strength and ruggedness, the kind of lover he had dreamed about for years. One perhaps strong enough to endure his madness.

James sucked in a breath as Leonard lifted his arms again. He pulled his hair back, the shirt stretching impossibly over his torso with every moment, defining every crevice that he was to far away from to touch.

A moan of greedy want rumbled from his chest and slipped from his throat. ‘Twas painful to be so far from him, though he would not touch the King on his own accord. He understood the unspoken rules. He must wait for him and then submit when he wanted him.

He could venture outside and join the few watching the sport from the grass, as the Huntsman had suggested, but he did not wish to appear too eager. He had been a kidnapped bride, after all.

Leonard glanced up unexpectedly. He met his gaze in seconds, fully aware that he’d been oggling him.

James swallowed and attempted to lower his eyes, but in doing so, inadvertently leaned forward to see his features more clearly. Leonard wiped his brow, the mask fixed squarely on his face, the fighting having done nothing to shed light on his identity. Not even loosen the mask.

The King’s stare, even from afar, was nothing if not intimidating—and possessive. His eyes glinted in the sunlight like the metal of his sword, burning a hole right through James.

He could not move his feet or his body, though he wished to hide his flushing face. Did the King have eyes which probed the mind? His mind?

Why did Leonard vex him so? Why did the Huntsman, for that matter? He wasn’t usually so taken by the shroud of mystery or by a handsome face alone. Or by two men at the same time. He knew from experience that anyone who was pleasing to the eye could be more trouble than they were worth.

Such as the Huntsman. He would rue the lack of contact, but he never wanted the Huntsman to visit him again. Indeed, he would insist that he remain apart from him at all times. Perhaps he would casually mention it to the King, once their relationship was more established.

James felt a prick of jealousy as another huntsman came over to his husband. The man bowed his head in respect as he was speaking to the King, but stealing Leonard’s attention away from him, nonetheless. Leonard broke eye contact with James and walked with the other man towards an open, winding stairway leading up to a part of the castle that he had never seen before.

Egads, he had never _seen_ the castle. He had seen naught, save for one corridor.

Deciding that exploration of the castle was necessary and could not wait, he vowed to return before the king. He had a knack for finding his way in darkened, tight-fitting places, precisely recalling his steps back every time he ‘lost’ his way.

Once he was outside the King’s room, it became clear that Leonard had been sheltering him from his barbaric lifestyle. Shouts and the clang of swords came from a variety of directions, the calls crude and unfamiliar to him, the sounds of injury while sparring unmistakeable. All were a stark contrast to the sun’s fragile rays filtering through the curtains, offering this place its delicate light in reverent form. The sunlight rid the hall of only a few shadows, the castle too somber to receive its gifts, the darkness snuffing as much of light as it could.

James shivered and lifted his gaze higher to peer at the illuminated paintings on the walls, paintings that he could only describe as...gruesome.

He shivered, walking backwards when he found a lifesize depiction of King Leonard, atop his dark horse. His mask was like midnight and his eyes like a wolf’s as he stared down at _him_ instead of the pile of bodies lying haphazardly at the horse’s hooves. He saw no remorse reflected from his eyes, only blood oozing from his bare hands as he held onto the reins.

He blinked several times, trying to clear the vision from his mind as he turned back around and walked on. Nay, but he could not forget the barbaric depiction. ‘Twas whom he married.

Guards lined the hallway but never looked his way as he passed them. He swallowed a lump in his throat, discovering for himself that he was a free man, indeed, when two guards began to follow him but made no move to shackle him with iron.

Used to similar company in his own castle, he shoved their presence from his mind and headed for another set of winding stairs, away from the clamor behind him. It was the only quiet path he could take. ‘Twas also the dimmest.

He looked and looked, but alas, he could not find a window to open anywhere. He stopped walking, wishing he had a candle or torch. Something to light his way.

“This is the West Wing, my lord,” someone behind him said. “‘Tis abandoned.”

He looked over his shoulder at the guard who had spoken to him. “Is it forbidden?”

The guards exchanged a look that he could not decipher. “Nay, my lord. Only abandoned. You may come and go as you please.”

He could not hold back his surprise. “Anywhere?”

Forsooth. This King trusted him that much?

“Aye,” the second guard said.

He stepped forward, his curiosity burgeoning. The lure too strong to discover what the King had abandoned. An entire wing?

He smelled flowers as soon as he took the first step.

“There is a garden here?” he asked the guards.

“Below these stairs, my lord.”

He frowned. Below the stairs? ‘Twas a strange place for flowers.

“‘Tis the only room with windows in the West Wing,” the guard explained.

A greenhouse, then. He wanted to see that, too, but the ‘abandoned’ part of the castle sounded far more exciting.

Flanked by the guards, who had found two small torches in the hall, James made his way up the spiraling staircase. He did not look back. He could not explain it, but he could only look forward in anticipation. He let the pleasant fragrance guide him, but was disappointed when the scents faded and a stale smell of dust and old sheets hit his nostrils.

He saw growing evidence that this was an abandoned place, even sneezing once, but it did not deter him. His mother had always encouraged his love of adventure growing up, despite his affliction. He’d had a strict schedule otherwise, as a child of royal blood with a great weakness. His days had been split between tutors and appointments with doctors, his time never his own except for the early morning hours when he had been with his mother on their daily walks or at dusk, the time at which his father would give him his undivided attention.

If he’d been asked what his favorite pastime was as a child, he would have replied reading alone in the tree outside the nursery or playing in the grass, his feet bare in order to feel the dirt, experience the give of the earth like the other children. But he had never been asked.

Nay. Given a choice, neither would he have become Prince James—or King James in writing.

Once he was in the middle of the wing, he saw a door which was dustier and duller than the others. But it was the only one without a keyhole.

He reached for the knob.

“Nay, my lord!” the guard to his right exclaimed.

James froze.

“There are spiders—”

 _Spiders_.

He did not let the guard finish.

 _Spiders_.

He snatched his hand away and backed away in a rush, slamming directly into the wall behind him. His heart fluttered in his rib cage like an anxious butterfly, his breaths quick bursts.

“My lord?” the second guard asked, peering at him anxiously.

He shook his head and stared at the aged knob, willing himself to stop shaking but he could not. He crossed his arms, hugging himself as the memories came at him like starving stray dogs after a single piece of meat.

‘Twas an old wive’s tale in his country, one he would never forget. They claimed the spiders made this madness. His _insanity_. He’d been only a boy of three when he’d heard them outside his door, the crones his mother had desperately turned to for help.

They’d blamed spider bites.

But that wasn’t all. They had blamed anything and everything. The way he’d dressed, walked, spoke, and even thought. What books he’d read. What people he’d talked to. The moon. The stars. How he’d cleaned his teeth. How many times he’d cleaned his teeth. How he’d behaved. How soft spoken he was. How excited he became when his father came to see him.

 _Anything_.

He knew now, as a scholar, that they’d been wrong about many things, that they’d used him as a way to spend their days within the castle. But he could not reverse the impression they’d made upon him, the conditioning over time. He could never erase their probing, bony fingers which touched his face or their piercing, grating voices as they talked above him, discussing his hopelessness.

“My lord, ‘tis clear,” the first guard said.

James rubbed his face and walked forward, determined. He didn't bother peering past the guards first to see if the webs were gone. Nay, he had been shamed enough. They’d no doubt tell the King.

He walked to the door with his head held high—and stopped right inside the door.

This was what King Leonard had abandoned?

He stared in amazement at more books than he’d ever seen in his life. Books, lining the wide shelves on every wall. Books, stacked in piles on the floor. Books, hiding a narrow window. Large books. Small books. Brown books. Red books. Books that were as thick as the Huntsman’s hands. Books as thin as the fine curtains in the King’s room. There were ladders to reach the books, chairs in which to read them.

And time. He had all the time in the world to read them.

He held his breath, cautiously touching the spines of the books closest to him.

“My lord,” guard two said.

He paid him no heed, already eagerly looking at the titles, some of which he’d never heard before. Books of law. Myths. Music. Other arts, and other disciplines. He smiled, giving a small chuckle, his first laugh in weeks. He’d been ill for so long, worried for his Kingdom long before that, that he’d lacked the time or energy to read.

He’d forgotten what it was like to even consider reading a book.

“We will be right outside the room,” the guard finished.

He nodded absently, silently reading the spines of green books with gilded pages, unaware of their withdrawal. He pulled out one of the books, his heart skipping a beat. He knew before he opened its pages that it was his favorite. _Poetry_.

He stood, consumed with every letter, every word in this magnificent, yet lonely book. How could the King keep these hidden away from those who wished to read them? Surely there were others living here who would benefit from this collection. Or, the King himself. Why didn’t he want to read them?

If the King permitted it, he would return to this hidden library.

He leafed through the pages and lifted it to his nose. He inhaled deeply, the scent strong and familiar. Like the Huntsman.

He browsed the one corner, finding others he wished to read and laid them in a pile. After some time had passed—how much, he had no idea—he returned to the first book that he had held in his hands. He opened its pages with care and began to read.

“Bind thy love to me, oh morning sun,” he murmured. “Bind thy love to me, thou darkest nigh—”

“I knew naught where you were,” a voice boomed from behind him.

Startled, James snapped the book shut and spun around. “My lord,” he murmured, casting his eyes down in respect.

“James,” the King said slowly.

He swallowed. “I did not hear you enter.”

“I did not want to disturb you,” Leonard said.

Nay, Leonard would never be a disturbance. James bit the inside of the cheek to keep himself from speaking the forward thought.

“Hmm,” Leonard murmured. “Tis what I expected. This stale air. Dust. _Darkness_.”

Curious, James glanced up. The King loomed in the doorway, dressed in black attire that was different from what he’d worn while fencing. His hair pulled back in a ponytail with a black ribbon which cascaded down his back.

Leonard narrowed his eyes on the book he held in his hands. “You, my Prince, are a scholar. Poetry?”

He could barely see the outline of the King’s jaw. He saw the pulse of his neck. He saw the scowl.

Was he angry that he was here? Angry that he had been unable to find him?

Heart pounding, James clutched the book to his chest. “Y-yes, my lord.”

Leonard entered, moving with elegance around the piles of books. He paused no more than three feet away, studying James like he would eat him for dinner.

Was Leonard the King? Or a bird of prey?

Self-conscious, and certainly not wanting to anger him further by holding a possession he’d rather James had kept hidden, he replaced the poetry book. He hated to put it back. There were no books to be seen in the bedroom.

He met his gaze. James’s throat constricted as Leonard stared at him. They didn’t speak, nor did they make a single move towards each other. Still, James felt as if his husband had stripped him of his clothing with his dark, probing eyes.

Flushing yet again, he curled his hand around a stack of books on a stand next to him in an effort to find a respite from the passionate gaze.

He also attempted to look...relaxed.

Ha. He felt as if Leonard had already taken hold of his body, possessing him. If these deepening, heated looks continued, he would become a puddle on the floor.

“I should have assumed that you had a love of books,” Leonard said slowly.

What had given him away? He tried to look aloof and cleared his throat, chagrined that he was constantly tongue-tied in his presence. Worse, that he couldn’t stop his body from heating at his mere glance.

“I have not been in here,” Leonard murmured. He drew a breath, tipping his head back to look around more. “In years.”

“Why not, my lord?” he asked.

Leonard’s eyes scanned the tallest shelf in the room. “I had no need for it,” he said flatly. He dropped his gaze to James. “Until now.”

James clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging painfully into his skin. What did he mean? Would he be kept here? In this abandoned wing? Full of cobwebs? Spiders?

He could not. He could not. He could _not_.

“Nay, I dislike books,” he said swiftly, gulping a breath.

Leonard blinked.

“They are a nuisance,” James rushed out. “‘Tis better to be abandoned.”

The King’s eyes narrowed suspiciously on him. “You do not like books?”

“Nay,” he lied.

“You...do not like books,” Leonard repeated slowly.

“I do not,” he said vehemently.

“Then, tell me, Prince James, why enter such a dismal room?” Leonard asked, cocking his head.

“Discovery,” he said honestly.

A slow smirk lifted Leonard's lips. “Aye, I see. Shall I expect you to sneak into all my abandoned rooms?”

“Nay, my lord,” James said, unable to read the expression on his husband’s face, nor his tone. Remembering a time when his mother had disobeyed his father, sorely offending him, he sucked in a breath and, head bowed, knelt on one knee before the King. “Please forgive my intrusion. ‘Twill never happen again.”

Leonard approached him, but he did not lift his gaze from the floor.

“I will forgive this,” Leonard said firmly, “but only this one time.”

“Aye, my lord,” he said hoarsely.

“Look at me,” Leonard commanded.

James resisted the urge to swallow and lifted his chin. The King’s eyes were dark and angry.

He flinched. A mistake, for it only emboldened the King.

“You misunderstand, my James,” Leonard said harshly. “Your discovery is trivial, but your kneeling is not.”

Aye, the King was correct. He did not understand. “My lord?”

His gaze pierced him. “Never kneel before me again.”

Never...kneel? It still did not make sense to him, but he would acquiesce. “Aye, my lord.” James swallowed, yet he could not move from his submissive position unless he knew. “And...my weakness?” he forced himself to ask. “You must have discovered it.”

“Aye, I have,” Leonard said.

James closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nostrils. “I should not have kept it a secret.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Leonard said. “If only to have prepared me that I could have properly cared for you in your distress—and to have lessened my own.”

James froze.

“I was beside myself, Prince James,” Leonard said quietly.

“My lord…”

“Rise, my Prince,” Leonard said softly. “Do not delay our kiss any longer.”

James’s eyes flew open, taken aback by his forwardness. The lines around Leonard’s mouth softened as he held out his hand.

“Please,” Leonard said with a slight shake of his head. “I cannot bear to be kept apart from you any longer. You... _captured_ me from your place at the window.”

His breath rushed out of him, but, somehow, despite the haze of desire that quickly descended upon him, he managed to take his hand.

Leonard pulled him up with ease, using the motion to his advantage. James came to his feet, but found himself pressed up against him, the King’s right arm curved around his waist in his iron grip. Nay, a _lock_. The King’s strength was unmatched. He relaxed into the embrace and the hardness of his body, discovering that the new closeness was more invigorating than he’d even expected.

Leonard lowered his head, the intent in his eyes the same as the Huntsman’s had been in the forest.

Jim’s pulse quickened.

The forest.

He wouldn’t be here had it naught been for his capture.

Aye, the reminder of the King’s cruelty came at the worst time.

“James,” Leonard whispered hoarsely, his eyes falling on his lips.

He could not find his voice, his desire for the King’s touch overwhelming. He parted his lips in anticipation and closed his eyes—

Yet could not reconcile this man’s tenderness with the ominous, savage figure in the painting.

Tension coiled in his shoulders.

Which King would he see the most of during their marriage? Which King would make love to him in their bed? Tender lover or brutal warrior?

Leonard sucked in a breath almost immediately. “You are not ready.”

The words left him cold.

Leonard loosened his hold on him. James opened his eyes to find him staring at him in dismay.

His heart fell. “My lord, forgive me,” he said thickly. “I—”

“Do not speak, for I see it in your eyes, and I hear it in your voice,” Leonard whispered. “You are not ready, Prince James.”

“I am ready,” he insisted, lifting his hand to the King’s face in a flash of confidence.

He fingered his mask.

Leonard’s eyes suddenly glinted with fire, his hand clutching at his and pulling it down, away from his face. “You are not ready,” he asserted harshly. “Nor are you prepared to see what is underneath this mask, my James. Not yet.”

“My lord, I care naught if you are scarred underneath or—”

“Nay, James.

“Please—”

“No!”

James startled.

“I command you not to speak of it again,” Leonard ordered, a dangerous look in his eyes.

James could see that he could not press him more. “Aye, my lord,” he relented quietly.

Leonard glanced around with a scowl. “We must leave this place. I remember now why I do not like it.”

James pursed his lips, the bite of the King’s words wounds to his heart. “Aye, my lord.”

But Leonard did not let go of his hand. “One day, James, you will understand,” he whispered, his gaze once more caressing his lips. “One day, I will show you.”

Jim moistened his lips, confused and undone by the King’s shifts in whims and commands.

“Come,” Leonard said, his hand warm as he led him out of the library. “I wish to take you to the fields, to give you the opportunity to speak with your people.”

A spark of happiness lit his heart.

Leonard paused at the doorway and glanced down at James’s feet. “But first, we must find you—”

James looked down, too.

Egads.

“—proper footwear, my James.”

He could not look at the King.

He had forgotten to wear his boots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story. I'd love to hear from you if you are! :)


	6. Favor, Part I of II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the chapter up - it was getting too long for my taste for this particular story. Thus, the next chapter will be called Favor, Part II of II. Don't be surprised if this fic ends up being twelve chapters, not ten, since I have a habit of doing things like this. LOL. Not on purpose, mind you! 
> 
> Thank you, Diamondblue4 and junker5, for the beta! XX
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

 

They never made it to the fields that day.

Unfortunately, James had had an episode of madness in broad daylight, while they’d awaited the King’s carriage. He’d broken a window in his manic state and sustained a gash on his arm before the two guards who’d shown him the library could restrain him.

James, as much as he tried, could not remember it happening.

The injury had kept him in the castle for several days in a row as he recovered. For two days after that, other than his bedchamber, he'd only been allowed in the courtyard.

The King’s physician, Geoffrey, had sutured the gash after sedating him with a herbal concoction he had never heard of. In fact, everything about the way he’d treated him had been...strange.

Geoffrey’s understanding of the human body confounded him. He spoke words in a way he did not fully comprehend, also approaching his “condition” without the judgement he was used to enduring. In the way that Leonard’s swordsmanship was unmatched, Geoffrey’s medical knowledge surpassed that of any physician he knew. His intellect, too. Except for perhaps Christopher’s intelligence. And Leonard’s, too, whose library was filled with books on all subjects, from rich tales of old, to the way of courts, to medicine.

James could not help but imagine that his husband kept the depth of his own knowledge hidden behind his boasts of savagery and acts of war. It was as if he’d locked anything away that could possibly “tarnish” his reputation. Banishing all things, even those which were beautiful.

He couldn't keep up with the mounting oddities in this new life, including the food. He'd realized the cuisine was different, too, when his meals arrived. He’d eaten green, leafy vegetables, a rarity in his own Kingdom, and meat that was rich with spices without settling heavily in his stomach. And the soup! Egads, he feared he would soon outgrow his waistcoat. His mouth watered, wanting to sip on the clear broth, enjoy the noodles curled in the liquid, the dash of exotic spices that had enhanced each savory spoonful. Eating was a pleasure that he looked forward to now, stirring feelings of great peace rather than the usual knots in his stomach.

He was beginning to think that _he_ was the barbarian. Leonard’s Kingdom was full of riches no uncivilized man would ever have. Things that he, James, had never seen, including the impressive drawbridge, and the smooth-riding carriage they were riding in as they traveled around the countryside.

He also wondered if _Leonard_ could even be called a true barbarian. Aye, his strength was savage. His ways uncouth. Yet his heart seemed naught, especially when it came to James.

James sighed. His insanity had come at the most inopportune time. He had never known such humiliation. Even as a child, the episodes had come solely at night. Wrapping his secret in shadows. He feared more episodes, but, other than his penchant for sleepwalking and writing, he’d had yet to experience his madness again.

Though he was far from being superstitious, he liked to think that his barbaric husband’s presence had scared his episodes away. King Leonard had divided his attention between his kingdom and James, spending more time with him than James thought was proper, despite being the King’s “new bride.” But he’d quickly discovered that one should not argue with his husband when he was in a foul mood. He’d tried to ask Leonard for the scripts, but the King refused to give them to him, saying he’d tossed them in the fire.

Yet, he could not be upset with him for ridding his Kingdom of his husband’s madness. Leonard had kept vigil over him when Gaila or Geoffrey could not, despite his pleas that he rest.

James had secretly been pleased he’d paid no heed to his requests. He could not explain his reactions to his husband’s constant presence. The warmth he felt in his belly every time Leonard walked into the room or stared at him from behind his mask. The pleasant shiver that went down his spine when he heard his voice as he lay beside him, holding only his hand. The longing he felt when Leonard was but a hairsbreadth away.

He simply could not help but wish for more of the same attention. And... _more_.

For Leonard had yet to touch him as his right—and James’s desire.

Now that he was well, they were headed for the homes of James’s people, who were now King Leonard’s villeins. Their homes lay southeast of the fields the King had generously given them. He could not wait to speak with them, having worried ever since his last episode that word of his condition would reach their ears before he could explain that he was relatively unharmed.

“Forgive me, my James,” King Leonard said softly from beside him.

James could not tear his gaze from the window of the carriage—not even for him. “For what?” he murmured.

He’d never seen so much... _green_. Not just any green. Or one green. He saw a palate of greens, colors his father’s artists used in their paintings; not a color, however, used in King Leonard’s paintings. The brilliant colors went on for miles and miles, as the sky.

He’d observed the fields from his vantage from his room in the castle, but up close revealed a different story. There was nothing but fertile land as far as the eye could see, more land than even the King’s people could possibly harvest in one year. Which meant an excess. They’d never farm the same plot over, never drain the nutrients from the soils.

If this fertile, healthy land alone was the reason King Leonard had become a force to be reckoned with, he could naught find fault in it.

In the days leading to his people’s illness, James had not seen a single lush field. Nay, it had been the same when his father ruled the kingdom. He’d never seen a field as bountiful as these in all his years. Try as they might, his father’s fields had been wrought with thistles and weeds and vermin year after year, ever since James had been a young child. Changes in weather, once swelling streams going dry and long heat spells, had all played a part in the land’s demise. Curses, another, according to the same crones who’d treated him like a specimen to be poked and prodded.

Jim stared morosely out the window, thoughts of the crones unwelcome. Once he’d become King, he’d declared his condition permanent and asked that his advisors, including Spock, no longer concern themselves with it. That they should, instead, focus their attentions on what mattered most—security and food for his people. They’d conceded, and strengthened his kingdom in other ways. They’d also traded wares and provisions with surrounding lands, but had never considered bartering with the barbaric Huntsmen.

And why should they have? James knew now that what had been fabled was actually true. The Huntsmen plunder, thieve and destroy, all in the name of their King. They force their newly acquired villeins and servants to wed against their will, even if they care naught. They force them to work the fields. They take their riches for themselves. They _conquer_.

“What has dispelled the joy from your eyes, my Prince?” Leonard asked.

“What?” James asked, pulling his gaze from the window.

Leonard cocked his head. “You have not been listening to a single word I have been saying.”

James flushed, but his day-dreaming wasn't the cause. What a sight the King was this day. A thick fur cape fitted across his broad shoulders, his beard fuller, his hair cascading down in wild waves, and his mask in place, Leonard was the epitome of strength, royalty, danger—and mystery.

James bowed his head. “I apologize, Your Majesty.”

The King lifted James’s chin with his hand, his eyes glinting as he leaned forward on the cane he’d brought along. “James.”

It was a reprimand.

“Leonard,” James breathed.

Leonard dropped his hand just as the carriage jostled. James braced himself with one hand against the door, the other on the King’s thigh to keep from falling.

Leonard looked down at his lap, his brow quirked in a mixture of what appeared to be amusement and smugness.

James’s flush deepened. He lifted his hand from his husband’s body, only for it to be grasped by Leonard’s gloved hand.

Leonard did not let go, his grip firm. “You will learn,” he murmured, his eyes roving over him. “And, as I told you before, someday you will learn to touch me without fear.”

“I do not fear you, my lord,” James whispered.

“You do not?” Leonard gave him a long look.

Oh, how he wished to sink into it, his heated gaze. Yet he drew back his hand once the King’s grip loosened.

“No, I fear…” He paused, moistening his lips. “Your...Huntsman.”

As soon as the confession left his ears, he realized his error. He should not have said he feared one of the King's friends.

Leonard’s brows raised. “I have many huntsmen, James.”

If there was a way to die of embarrassment, it would be this. “I know.”

Leonard eased back, his posture surprisingly carefree as the carriage stopped. “You have nothing to fear from them.”

James licked his lips self-consciously. It was not that he feared all of them—only the advances of one huntsman in particular, if they could be called advances. Surely, he had not imagined them. The near press of the Huntsman’s body next to his. His lips so close to him that they had almost tasted the salt on his skin. His voice husky in his ear like a lover’s. The devotion he’d showed him by fixing his biscuit. The ignorance he’d feigned when he’d remained by his side.

So different than the way of the King. So... _intimate_.

Maybe he should not speak of his reservations to the King, after all. He had enough guilt to last him a lifetime. He need not add more to it. He would ask the Huntsman to depart from his presence himself, if he were to see him again. He'd seen him naught since he'd brought wood into his bedchamber. Not even with the other Huntsmen when they indulged in their sword playing.

“Aye, my lord,” he agreed quietly.

“And they, in turn, will not fear you,” Leonard murmured. “My people, even yours, however,” he continued, inclining his head towards the window and the fields. “Will always fear me.”

James searched his eyes, believing he saw a hint of remorse in them. “You do not want them to?”

But Leonard’s eyes darkened, any emotion swiftly disappearing. “I do not have a choice, my James. ‘Tis how things are done.”

They all had the ability to choose. Even the King. “But if they could only see you the way I do—”

“You no longer fear me?” Leonard challenged him.

James took a breath, frustrated that he’d deftly averted answering his question. “I...know not to fear you.”

“‘Tis a difference, James, between knowing and understanding,” Leonard said quietly. “But for them it is not easy. They fear me, because they must. It is our way.”

James could not argue, though it was on the tip of his tongue to counter his belief with one of his own. He sensed a melancholy from his husband, much in the same way that he had sensed his. What if his King did not wish to be a savage beast of a man—but a man of noble intentions? A man who ruled his people out of peace rather than with fear?

As he weighed the choice in his mind, he could see that he had no reason to believe that Leonard would ever give up his barbaric ways. Nor would he sacrifice his kingdom’s safety, relinquishing his hold on all that he’d acquired since he’d become King. Nero was too much of a threat.

Leonard tapped his cane on the side of the coach. One of the coachmen opened the door seconds later.

Leonard motioned with his hand to the steps leading down. “And that is why you must proceed without me.”

James looked at him, alarmed. “You’re not coming with me?”

“Nay, I cannot,” Leonard said, shaking his head. “They would not speak to you, for their trepidation of misstepping before the king, and that I would punish them, is all that they would think about.”

“You are not as terrible as that, my lord,” James said without thinking.

Leonard’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “I am gratified to know that, my husband. But I cannot stay. I have matters to settle within the hunting lodge.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” James asked quickly, his curiosity getting the best of him once again.

“Aye, it is,” Leonard muttered darkly. “Poaching.”

‘Twas an offense even a good King could not ignore. As King James, he had often settled the disputes in an unorthodox yet peaceful manner. He could see in Leonard’s eyes that he would not. ‘Twould be the severest of penalties.

“I will not stand for it,” Leonard clipped.

James did not like the edge to his voice. “What will you do?”

“What all just rulers must do,” Leonard stated. “This will not go unpunished.”

He shivered. He could only imagine. Most kings ordered the criminal to be hung, castrated, or bound to a deer skin while loosed dogs hunted him down. Even blinded so that they could no longer shoot their arrows. A barbarian like Leonard would do the same—or worse.

“This bothers you,” Leonard murmured.

“Aye.” His honesty would someday be his downfall. “Such transgressions always do.”

“I must go,” Leonard said, wisely changing the subject. “I will send one of my men to guard you. You will be safe at all times.”

James inched forward in his seat, swallowing the lump which had formed in his throat. “I shall...miss you.”

Leonard’s eyes captured him. If James had been standing, he knew very well that he would have become as weak-kneed as a doe-eyed maiden. The King knew naught how his mystery consumed him, even taking hold of his dreams.

“And I you, my James,” Leonard said after a moment. He reached under his fur cape and drew out a small pouch cinched at the top. “Here. Take this.”

James hesitated, but took the pouch, grateful for the exchange which allowed their hands to touch. The King’s hand lingered before they both pulled away.

The pouch was lumpy, and heavy in his hands. “My lord?”

“Coins to give to the villeins, servants, or whomever you so choose,” Leonard said.

He could not help but feel pleased about Leonard’s generosity, for it had been one of his favorite things to do. Directly bestowing monetary gifts to those in need. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” Leonard mused, his brow quirking in his familiar way. “That is your name, as well.”

James’s heart pounded in his chest. “Nay,” he croaked, his guilt a noose around his neck. He did not deserve the title after what he had caused.

Leonard sighed, as if displeased with him. “Nay?”

“Please,” he whispered, clenching the pouch in his hands. “I relinquished...my title upon my capture.”

Perhaps his capture had been a blessing, after all, ridding him of that cursed title.

Leonard narrowed his eyes, as if he saw through his excuse. “Nay, my James. _You_ continue to deny yourself this title. I have never taken it away from you, but since I carry great affection for you, my husband, I will take care of the matter today.”

James blinked. What was the King to do?

“You are no longer King James, but Prince James now and forever more,” Leonard said flatly. “I will request that this decree be put in writing immediately, with my signature and seal. It will be posted publicly so that no one will mistake you for who you are not. Does this suffice, my James?”

Relief coursed through his body that his husband had understood, drawing a small smile from him. “Aye,” he agreed.

Leonard nodded. “I see that it pleases you. Now that we have taken care of this matter, you may go.”

“You have been kind to me,” James said, unwilling to part.

“I am because I chose you, and will have no other.” Leonard flicked his hand. “Now, go, before your friends decide they would first ransack my carriage with me in it, then my castle, if I don’t unhand you for one afternoon.”

James sucked in a sharp breath. How could he even suggest such a thing?

Leonard’s eyes softened behind the mask. “I jest, my James.”

James relaxed his shoulders and, with the help of the coachman, for his arm was still sore, stepped out of the carriage onto solid ground. He hesitated, turning back towards his husband. “I will not be long.”

“Take as long as you need,” Leonard said, before closing the door himself.

Somewhat put-off by the way his husband had forced him outside, and, now alone, he stood and watched the carriage roll away. It made its slow journey toward a cluster of houses, all of which were surrounded by thick pines. He watched until he could not longer see it, then pivoted on his heel.

Kevin and Janice had, indeed, seen the Royal coach and were walking hurriedly up the path.

He could already tell from their faces that all was not right, though they hid it well, behind their smiles. No doubt for his sake.

“Your Majesty,” Kevin stated once he'd reached him. He knelt on one knee, bowing his head, while Janice curtseyed.

“I'm no longer King,” James murmured. “There is no need for this.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but you shall always be our king.”

“Things have changed. Please, rise,” he said, without his usual patience. “Call me Prince James from hence forth, if you must.”

Obeying his order, Kevin finally lifted his eyes. He looked at him quizzically. “You are distressed.”

Aye. He would blame that on the Huntsman, who had boggled his mind with his disappearance. The King, who had left him here alone.

“I need...a friend,” he admitted. “Not—a villein.”

“A friend?”

“Or two,” he added.

“Very well,” Janice said pertly. “In that case…”

She threaded an arm through his uninjured one, as if they were well-acquainted. “Allow me to show you our new home.”

“Are you being treated well?” James asked, as he walked down the road, sandwiched between them.

Peasants and servants cast hesitant glances his way as they passed them. He smiled encouragingly, slowly gaining a few smiles in return.

“Aye,” Kevin said, from the other side of him.

“They like you,” Janice whispered in his ear. “Because we have told them so much about you.”

He stiffened, halting their progress. “What?”

“Nothing about your condition,” Kevin said in a hushed voice.

James blinked at him. “You _know_?”

“Yes, we know.” Kevin looked down and shuffled his feet. “Spock told me—”

“Not here, Kevin.” Janice huffed and, along with her brother, pulled him over to a small cottage.

They ushered him inside and made him sit by a fire, which was tended by a young girl of about nine or ten years old.

“Hello,” James said, giving her a small smile.

She smiled shyly back at him and dipped her head.

“This is Anna,” Janice explained. “She is living with us since her father is tending to the King’s borders for a season. She is here for her education.”

James finally relaxed. This must be their home. “You are tutoring her.”

Janice was one of the villeins who knew more than most young noblewomen her age, having been taught in a school for girls that James’s mother had created before her death. That she had been allowed to tutor, not just work in the fields, was a good sign that they’d asked her what her talents were.

He would have to ask Leonard who was responsible for giving them this opportunity, so he could extend his gratitude. Janice would thrive in a position such as this. Kevin, as her brother, would hopefully thrive, too.

“Aye,” she said.

“And you, Kevin?” James asked.

He grinned and sank into the chair across from him. “I work the fields three days a week. The other four, I am an apprentice.”

”Apprentice?” James echoed.

Kevin had never acted interested in learning a trade before, but always had his nose stuck in a book, like his sister. Like him, for that matter.

“Falconry,” Kevin said proudly.

Now he remembered. “Your uncle—”

“—and grandfather,” Kevin added.

“—were falconers, envied by a few lords in my court,” James said, feeling a prick of pride himself. “How did they learn about you?”

“We were interviewed the day we arrived,” Kevin said, picking at his sleeve.

James crossed his arms and looked up at Janice. “Truly?”

She nodded. “‘Tis true, Prince James. We were among those first interviewed.”

Jim looked at Kevin. “Why?”

The young man shifted in his seat. “We were caught bringing things from our home as they forced us out.”

“What things?” James frowned.

“Food for the journey,” Janice said, a disgusted look on her face. “Our mother’s jewelry.”

“They took it all,” Kevin said grimly. “They wouldn't let us carry anything other than a few articles of clothing, which they confiscated once we arrived. They _burned_ them. Forced us to take _baths_. To work in their fields. And they _imprison_ us if we try to escape his borders. _That_ is your King.”

“He has a purpose,” James said, defending him.

“He stole from us,” Kevin said, raising his voice. “Look around! Do you see anything that reminds you of our home? Anything?”

“I see that we’re finally safe from Nero.” James stared into the fire, Kevin’s doubts and anger bringing back his own ten-fold. “You cannot possibly understand the failure that I’ve felt, knowing as the years passed and our numbers dwindled, that our strength against other armies was weakening, despite our fortitude. You cannot possibly fathom the guilt I felt that we would eventually be unable to defend ourselves against these barbarians. That we'd _all_ be dead, lying on the hard ground instead of in coffins, had they not conquered our lands.”

“At least you admit to what he is,” Kevin spat, face pinched. “What _they_ are.”

“I do.” James sent a reassuring glance at Anna, who was watching them, her face white. ”But I also know he has protected everyone here. He does concern himself with your safety.”

“You’re taken with him,” Janice murmured.

“He is my husband.” James could not deny it. “Yet still a stranger to me.”

“That may be so, but you are blushing.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Does he know of your affliction?”

“Of course.” James caught himself before he spoke bitterly about it.

Leonard had only shown him the utmost compassion. Now that he knew Kevin and Janice were prejudiced against him, he did not wish to add to their distaste.

“And?” Kevin asked, scooting forward in his chair.

“He does not let me see what I've written.” He drew a breath. “Nor did he put me in the dungeon, which was his right as both my husband and king.”

Kevin blinked. “Oh.”

James smiled in spite of himself. “He does not see me as afflicted.” He paused. “But as his mate, whom he must protect.”

“I don't see him protecting you now.” Kevin said, cocking a brow.

James swallowed. This was true, for although Leonard had promised there would be a guard, he had not seen one.

“And why would I need anyone protecting me?” he asked, frowning.

The brother and sister exchanged a look.

“We’ve— _they've_ —been unsure of him,” Janice said, grabbing a pitcher off of the table. She turned around and poured the liquid into a cup, then handed it to him. “Without word from you, Prince James, we have been...at odds.”

“Be at odds no more. Tell them he is now our King and we must obey him,” James said firmly. “For your safety as well as...my own.”

He sipped the liquid, grateful for the water.

“Aye, my lord,” she murmured, though she exchanged another hesitant glance with her brother first. “Are you hungry?”

He'd eaten well, already, but the talk of their troubles and uncertainties had taxed him. He did not envy the King and his royal duties, as it appeared that he, James, cared naught for them, after all. He would much rather be here, amongst the villeins, meeting them, settling minor disputes, or spreading the King’s generosity.

“Yes,” he said.

“We have bread and figs, some fish, too.”

James glanced at Anna. “I'm not interrupting your studies, am I?”

“Nay, Prince James,” she said, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“Your arrival is an occasion.” Kevin slouched in his seat, grinning at him.

“Then let us break bread together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, writing UST has been all too tempting, and I've succumbed to it. :D Thank you for reading! Please, review? :) I promise - the Huntsman will absolutely return in the next chapter, which is in the process of being written. You shouldn't have to wait too long since I'll update this story again next. The holiday will probably stretch it out a bit, though, maybe until next week. I'm dying to write and share it as soon as possible, since it was supposed to have been in this chapter. :D 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends!


	7. Favor, Part II of II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, diamondblue4, for giving of your time and helping me with this chapter. :) Hugs!
> 
> With this update, and between three fics, I believe that I've now gone OVER the Nanowrimo goal of 50k words this month. Yay! With time to spare, too! I haven't even officially signed up...it was too much pressure to do so. I guess I'll sign up now. :)
> 
> I am anxiously posting this chapter. Hope you like it. Finally, the Huntsman again. ;)

 

Their meal of bread, figs, and fish finished, James leaned back in his chair, more content than he had been in a long time. However, his contemplative nature would not relent its hold on him. His troubles did not diminish in light of his satisfaction, but he did feel more at ease to deal with them.

Although he’d attempted to acclimate himself into his new life over the past several days, his dissatisfaction had grown. It was clear to him now, away from the castle, away from Leonard, that his unhappiness had been rooted in his sense of separation. His distance from his people, both villeins and servants. The loneliness which had resulted from becoming one of the King’s own through marriage. Even the isolation that his illness had caused.

Spock’s departure and continued absence weighed on him, also. There was a slim chance that he was alive, but he did not have the authority to send men to search for him. Or for his friend’s body.

Unless he placed his request directly at the foot of the King.

Since Nero was becoming bolder, and Leonard fiercer, he doubted the King would relent. He could not risk his relationship with the King by asking foolhardy questions that he already knew the answer to. It would be too dangerous. However, how could he not try to find his friend? Dead or alive? Or, perhaps, send word to Christopher, at least regarding his own whereabouts?

James made a decision. He'd once more weigh the risks of sending someone beyond this country—and ask the King soon. Also, since he was here, and he was well, he would use his time wisely and efficiently, like his father would have done. He'd use the remainder of his visit to speak with as many of his former villeins as possible. Especially since it appeared the Huntsmen were occupied elsewhere within the kingdom.

His villeins were used to telling him their concerns. Once a week, he listened to them. Took care of their complaints and heralded their accomplishes. It had made his days long as King, a fact that Spock had disliked. Aye, the long days had worn on him. At times, he had not been able to walk to his throne the next day but sat idly for a time, enjoying the gentle breeze coming across the lake. But he would do no less for his people here, who, as strange as it sounded, were his family. They were also observant, eager to help him in any way that they could, continuing the strong, generations-old, link of communication between them. Hence, since he wanted to know as much as possible about the Huntsmen, the borders of their lands, and the formation of Leonard’s army, he would simply ask them. He also wanted to know the men Leonard had placed in charge, but without asking the King.

Kevin had always been a curious sort. James had no doubt he’d begin investigating on his own if he asked him.

“You are quiet, Prince James,” Kevin said, getting up from his seat at the table.

“Aye,” he admitted. “I may walk around a bit, find a few others that had once been under my care.”

His friend glanced sharply at him. “They are still under your care, my lord.”

“Merely in a different capacity,” Janice added smartly.

Kevin set the serving bowl on the kitchen counter beside Janice and the basin in which they would wash the dishes. Janice, however, picked up a towel.

Kevin frowned. “You dried yesterday,” he complained. “‘Tis my turn.”

“You forget, dear brother,” she tsked.

Kevin snorted. “You just don’t like your fingers getting wrinkled, my lady,” he said flippantly, though there was warmth in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t like how the pen feels in my hand.”

“Nay,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard such an excuse. ‘Tis your turn to wash.”

Janice threw a glance over her shoulder, to where Anna was standing with an open book.

The younger girl gasped slightly and clutched her book to her chest. “I have studies to finish before tomorrow, after all,” she announced, sitting down beside James with a book in her hand.

“You do, do you?” Janice asked, rolling her eyes.

“Aye,” Anna said, nodding her head vigorously. “‘Tis…’Tis my motto. Always do today, what—”

“You would rather not do at all,” James interrupted, with a laugh.

She promptly giggled. A joyous feeling of overcame him, that he could be himself and tease his friends at his whim, and he winked at her.

“I have work,” Anna announced, with another giggle.

“Oh, you do, do you?” Janice asked dryly, a hand on her hip.

Anna squirmed in her seat, but her eyes filled with determination. “Aye. I want to work ahead.”

She opened her book and began to mouth the words as she read.

“She is most studious,” James told Janice, fighting a rising grin.

“You’re no help, my lord,” she replied, with a long suffering sigh.

James chuckled. The young girl appeared well-versed in how to avoid Janice’s efforts to make her work. “Oh, I think she has things under control without me.”

“Aye, she does,” Kevin grinned, grabbing the towel, before turning back to his sister. “Looks like your hands will get all wretched and withered, after all.”

Janice huffed and plunged her hands into the soapy water, still muttering. Amused, James leaned back in his chair to listen as his friends continued to bicker with one another. To say that he was enjoying himself in their company was an understatement. He hadn’t realized how deprived of social interaction he had been, not that he thought King Leonard had purposefully sequestered him. On the contrary, Leonard had enforced a waiting period, allowing him to regain more of his strength and acquaint himself with his new way of life. He appreciated Leonard's care and concern for him, also that he’d trusted him enough to leave him here alone.

The lack of a guard, or guards, didn’t bother him, after all. He wasn’t defenseless. He could protect himself.

“When did you say the King was returning to take you back to the castle?” Janice asked.

James looked out the window, taking a second glance in disbelief. The sun was much lower in the sky, a clear sign that quite some time had passed since his arrival.

“I didn’t,” he said, standing and going over to the window. He braced his hands on the ledge as he stared out. “He never said when he was returning.”

“Aye, surely he will. Of any of us, he’d return for you even if you were married naught,” Kevin said with a grin. “My sister has too many wrinkled fingers, Anna too young, and I am spoken for.”

“By your feathered friends,” Janice muttered under her breath.

James, again, tried to hide a smile. Janice spoke the truth. Kevin lost himself in the world of the birds once he was immersed.

Kevin reddened. “I enjoy my work—”

“I know,” she said softly, giving him a look. “I understand.”

It appeared to appease her brother.

She turned to James. “You’re welcome to stay the night if he doesn’t return. I know ‘twouldn’t be what you are accustomed to, Prince James, but we have the room.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” James rubbed his chin, staring outside.

“Aye, my lord.” Kevin came to stand beside him. “‘Tis dangerous once the workers have returned from the fields and more guards stand watch.”

James considered his words, wanting to be careful not to offend them if he chose to leave. “If it would be safest, I shall stay. However, if there are more guardsmen, wouldn't my safety be assured?”

“That means nothing here,” Kevin scoffed. “They do not always look out for the better of mere villeins. Only when they are told and their King is around.”

Janice sighed. “‘Tisn’t true, Kevin. They are fair.”

He glared at her. “And now you are taking their side? The King’s huntsmen guard the borders. We cannot flee.”

“We are protected,” Janice said pointedly.

Kevin pulled himself up straight. “We cannot choose a different life for ourselves. We are no better than slaves, even our Prince James, who was forced to wed our new king. How long do you think before the King orders that the strongest of us shall become his Huntsmen? His soldiers?”

James could think of a few villeins Leonard would prefer to train. One in particular that had survived the fever. The man they called Cake.

Cake had always disliked him. He had never figured out why, or a way to lessen the tension between them, except to stay away from the tinmaker. At one time, Spock had said the man had wished to learn a new trade, but his poor vision disallowed him. He could not see well, nor could he speak well. But, his body was fit like a soldier's; his mind quick, for he was versed in military procedures and regulations.

When he’d become king, James had kept a tradition his father had begun years ago, which was to give toys to all the children in his kingdom upon the Winter Solstice. His father had always asked the woodmaker to create the toys, but James had thought of another tradesmen to employ, an older man who lacked work for his family. The tinmaker, a quiet man by the name of Archer. He could remember with clarity the smile that had grown on the older man’s face when he had visited his humble home and knocked on his door. Archer, from that point on, had happily created tin toys that were given to all the children at the start of the Winter Solstice. His adopted son, Cake, of his own accord, had, at the same time, created small tins to be given along with the small toys. These tins had been meticulously crafted to be filled with cake batter and baked by fire, providing a single serving for the child and another for the child to share.

James had publically thanked Archer’s son for his generosity, but had made the mistake of calling him Cake whilst doing so.

The name had stuck. Bruno was never Bruno again.

James, for all decent and good purposes, couldn't help but call him Cake. A better name, in his humble opinion.

The only time Cake was called Bruno was, of course, when Spock was around. Spock was a man who preferred tradition, almost to a fault. He called Cake by his given name without fail. James sighed and turned away from the window. He _missed_ Spock. Even missed Cake, wherever he was now, in Leonard's kingdom.

“I must send word to King Christopher,” he said abruptly.

The siblings’ eyes widened simultaneously.

Finally, Kevin spoke. “My lord,” he said. “How?”

“I don’t know,” he said grimly. “I would go myself, to see if Spock had made it—”

“Nay,” Janice interjected, with a stubborn shake of her head. “‘Tis too dangerous for anyone, especially for one of Royal blood.”

“Have you asked the King?” Kevin asked, eyes earnest. “Spock is your best friend. Surely, King Leonard could send someone if he cares for you.”

“Nay,” he clipped, worried for the trouble he could cause them by adding his own difficulties. “I—”

A knock sounded at the door.

His mouth snapped shut.

“Were you expecting someone?” Kevin asked his sister.

“Nay,” she said, walking towards the door.

James, as curious as Kevin, who had gone to peer out the window, joined him and cautiously peered out.

He took a sharp breath.

Egads. It was the Huntsman.

“Do you know him, Prince James?” Kevin asked, biting his bottom lip. “I care naught for their presence at all, let alone in my home.”

He could not lie, not even about him. “Aye,” he said thickly, his heart already pounding like a nervous hammer in his chest.

He had been cursed, surely, if one look of the man caused him to lose control of his senses so easily.

“You care naught for the Huntsmen,” Kevin asked, brow furrowing.

“Just…” James took a steadying breath. “This one. They are necessary to maintain peace in Leonard's kingdom, as my soldiers did for mine. ‘Tis no different.”

Janice held the doorknob, hesitating. She looked at him. “Shall I answer, my lord?’

James wondered if he could sneak out another door. Or, a window.

His friend looked at him confusedly when he didn’t answer.

The Huntsman knocked again.

James had no other choice. “Aye, receive him.”

Janice opened the door. “May I help you?” she asked, bowing naught but meeting the Huntsman’s gaze head on.

“Have you seen Prince James?”

“Aye,” she said quietly, and stepped back. “He is here, Huntsman.”

Her retreating movement allowed him passage into their house. The Huntsman stepped in, his looming figure no doubt savage and dark to his friends. To him, however, it was as if a breath of fresh air had swept through the room, leaving him breathless, denying him any sensible thought of his own. Indeed, his senses were filled, with all that was the _Huntsman_.

_And he did not mind it one bit._

The Huntsman found James, without having to look around, and inclined his head towards him. “My lord.”

Had he seen him by the window a little while ago? Was he merely being polite for his friends’ sake? It felt like they were already beyond trivial greetings.

The man had brought him firewood. Fixed his biscuit. Nearly debauched him in the King’s chamber.

Aye. They were beyond formalities.

“Greetings, Huntsman,” James said, with as much authority as he could muster.

The Huntsman’s eyes locked on his, a few seconds passing in silence, while James’s heart had yet to return to its steady beating. The air between them had teemed with life. His friends’ eyes were upon them as if they, too, felt the unprecedented spark which had lit between them.

“Prince James, the King sends his regrets for leaving you unattended,” the Huntsman said.

“No harm was done,” James said, confidently. “I am well. My friends were hospitable.”

“The King will be pleased to hear this.” The Huntsman’s eyes passed over Kevin and Janice with interest.

If ‘twas to intimidate, it worked naught. Janice lifted her chin. “We would be pleased to have him here longer, Huntsman. Let him stay. We are his oldest friends, of the ones alive and well.”

The Huntsman’s mouth opened and closed, as if her bluntness shocked him, then opened it again. “I am here to bring Prince James back to the castle.”

“‘Tis already decided,” Kevin stated, the hardness in his voice unmistakable.

The Huntsman’s eyes were cool. “Indeed, it has been. He goes.”

Kevin crossed his arms, matching his posture with his tone, yet falling short of the formidable presence of one of the King’s huntsmen. “Prince James desires—”

“To obey the will of the King,” the Huntsman said harshly.

Kevin stepped forward, as did the Huntsman. The two faced each other, as if preparing to battle. “Perhaps James has a will of his—”

“The King _demands_ —”

“The King’s demands are in poor taste,” Kevin bit out, “after what Prince James has gone through.”

The Huntsman towered over him, expression thunderous. “Poor taste?”

“The people he’s lost,” Kevin shot back. “His best friend.”

James sucked in a breath at the Huntsman’s darkening expression, the slip that Kevin had made, the words that were becoming a tangled mess. This would not bode well for any of them, if, indeed, they fought over his departure. Or anything else.

“Has the Prince hid things from the King?” the Huntsman boomed.

Everyone looked at James. He bit back a sigh. It wouldn't bode well if they fought over the loss he had not intended to be perceived as a secret in the first place.

“Huntsman,” he asserted, hoping to calm the raging waters before they spilled over. He stepped between them. “‘Tis true, I did lose someone, but others have lost more. These others have needs I can help fix. I intend to converse with them, with more of my...former villeins.”

He naught expected for the admissions to hurt him so.

The Huntsman shook his head. “I cannot allow it, my lord. I humbly ask that you follow me to the carriage, for it is my duty to bring you back safely before the sun sets. If I do not return with you, the King…” He hesitated, wincing. “You know naught his temper.”

Aye. He did know, to an extent. Would it worsen? Like his own spells of madness?

“Temper?” Kevin frowned at the Huntsman. “Egads, what do you mean? Are the tales true?”

“They must be,” Janice gasped, her hand over her heart as she turned to James. “He is a beast hiding under his mask! You must be careful, my lord.”

Anna’s posture wilted at the table, her eyes filling with fright. “Prince James!”

“Nay,” James said firmly, when the Huntsman did nothing to counter their gossip or superstition. He merely stood, his jaw clenching. Alas, James feared the man would break his teeth. “‘Tis tales to frighten Nero, not us.”

“We must depart now.” the Huntsman gritted out. He stared coldly at Kevin. “I insist.”

James sighed. What more could he do? He looked apologetically at his friends, and their other houseguest. “I must go. But I shall return tomorrow.”

The Huntsman eyed him disapprovingly.

James nearly rolled his eyes. Was he never happy? What had happened to the relaxed man in his bedchamber? The one who had nearly... _touched_ him?

“I have my duties, which include being of service to the King,” he said, annoyed that he felt inclined to explain himself. “I may be of use here, where I can learn of their concerns, then properly present them to the King.”

“Are their lives so distressing,” the Huntsman asked, tone flat. “Have they no food? No water? No protection? Were they not all questioned so they can lead as normal lives as possible? Given every other freedom?”

The muscles of Kevin’s jaw ticked. “We’ve been captured and given a new life, but at a cost!”

“Cost?” the Huntsman asked incredulously. “Do you not know what atrocities have been committed since your arrival? Have you yet to listen to what the Huntsmen say to you?”

Kevin flushed. “I have listened. I have not...forgotten.”

James frowned. “I know naught of what you speak.”

“Tell him,” the Huntsman said softly. “Tell Prince James what you know as truth.”

Kevin swallowed. “Our nearest neighbor, Verbeth, has b-been destroyed, my lord. Nero did not…” his voice diminished, as did the once confident look on his face.

“Kevin?” James urged him.

His friend shook his head. “Nay, I cannot speak of it.”

“Nero’s barbarians slaughtered them all two nights ago,” the Huntsman hissed. “All, my lord. The roads to your Kingdom are now blocked to the east, unless the King uses all his forces to clear them. Nero has retreated to his fort, but that does not mean he will be gone forever.”

“This can't be,” James whispered, closing his eyes. Why had the King not told him? To protect him? Or something else?

“You understand that had the Huntsman King not captured your kingdom,” the Huntsman continued, “or forced you to come with him, the same would have been done to you.”

“Aye, I understand,” James whispered. At the lull in conversation, he opened his eyes. The Huntsman was now looking outside, his expression tormented as if he were the King himself, burdened with these atrocities.

“Nay, the beasts are not here. Are not us,” the Huntsman continued. “They are out _there_.”

Janice wisely interjected. “Aye, the King has provided for us,” she said, before her brother could counter him again. “And more. We are grateful.”

The Huntsman’s shoulders relaxed. “Come, Prince James,” he said softly. “We have one matter of which to tend before we return.”

The gentleness of his voice disarmed him. As did his eyes, which were focused on him and only him. His mouth, which no longer drooped in a severe grimace, but had softened. His hair, which was windblown and required smoothing.

Perhaps his hand to smooth it.

“Prince James…”

He could naught... _think_. “I...where…”

He stopped before he began stammering like a fool.

“I will explain, once we leave.” The Huntsman couldn’t have sounded more like a man in charge. Yet, he could not deny the compassion pouring from his expression.

What kind of barbarian was he?

If he was reading Kevin and Janice correctly, they were as confused as he was.

James’s hands twitched. He knew naught what to do with them, with himself...with this barbarian who had appeared when he’d least expected him to. Who’d come in, with demands and orders, yet transformed into a playful version of himself.

Silence grew like a bad weed, the longer it lasted, the harder it was to form a single word on his tongue.

The Huntsman’s brow hiked.

He refused to look over at Kevin and Janice. Aye, he’d been quiet for far too long.

“Prince James,” the Huntsman prodded, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

He naught could help but believe that the Huntsman from before had returned in a blink of an eye.

What was he to do?

He felt someone tuck a wrapped package into his hand. It was Janice, her gaze sharpening. He was relieved she’d moved the moment along. “For later, my lord. To remember us by.”

He was touched. “Thank you.”

The Huntsman brushed shoulders with him, the touch causing him to shudder. “We must go.”

“We will be expecting you, Prince James,” Kevin said. A peculiar look grew on his face as he stared at them.

James could not decipher it. He cleared his throat. “Anna, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he said, instead, smiling at the young maiden.

She blushed and curtsied. “It was...I enjoyed meeting you, too, my lord.”

Oddly, the Huntsman bristled beside him. “Aye, Prince James’s fine reputation precedes him.”

James’s lips quirked, strangely pleased, over the fuss, and walked towards the front door alongside him. “Until tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” Kevin echoed behind him.

The Huntsman opened the door for James, and they walked out.

The sunlight was fading. There was a chill in the air. The Huntsman was more mysterious than he’d even realized.

For now, he stood apart again.

He shivered.

The Huntsman’s eyes bored a hole into him. “My lord, you are cold.”

“A bit,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

“The carriage is a little ways,” the Huntsman said slowly. “But I could go and return with it, if you want to remain behind with your friends.”

He came to a slow stop. “You'd leave me with Kevin and Janice?”

Was this man addled?

“Aye,” the Huntsman murmured, his head bowed.

It did not make any sense! “After you dragged me from their home?”

The Huntsman startled. “Nay, I did not drag—”

“Aye.” James would not excuse him. “You did.”

“Nay.”

“Aye, you _did_ ,” he stressed.

“I…” The Huntsman blew out a breath. “I only wanted to speak with you as soon as possible.”

James eyed him warily. “The King is not in any hurry to receive me, is he?”

“He sends you his regrets.” The Huntsman’s expression teemed with guilt. “‘Twill be nightfall before you see him again. Matters at the hunting lodge proved to be far more complicated than he had anticipated.”

“Yet he does not keep his promises,” James muttered, fighting the disappointment that he would not see him as soon as he’d thought.

And just when he’d thought they were closer…

Nay. He ‘twould never experience the King’s marriage bed as he desired at this rate.

“You are troubled,” the Huntsman murmured.

“Nay.”

“Aye.”

He bit back a retort. “Nay.”

“ _Aye_.”

He held his breath. “Perhaps, but only because you argue with me.”

The Huntsman faltered. “Forgive me, Prince James.” The Huntsman bowed his head again, his hair hiding his face. “‘Tis my fault, and my fault alone. I was...delayed.”

“By what?”

“A…” The Huntsman stilled as his shirt bulged at his heart.

James blinked and took a step closer to inspect the shirt. “Why is your shirt moving?”

It suddenly _mewed_.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Is that…?

The Huntsman, to his surprise, reddened beneath his beard. “Is it what?”

Dare he hope? It’d been so long since he’d seen one.

It mewed again, a tiny sound. A beautiful, comforting sound. “A...stray?”

The Huntsman’s eyes raised, guiltily. “Indeed.” He carefully removed the bulge from his shirt, holding it tenderly against his chest. He stroked the kitten’s back, murmuring soothingly to it.

The kitten’s pattern was peculiar but sweet. It was orange, with a few white stripes. Including one near its nose.

Orange and white, just like the jelly the Huntsman had served him.

A kitten? He could barely contain his excitement.

“I found him along the way,” the Huntsman said, lips curving into a smile as he looked down at it. “He was alone. Abandoned.” He glanced up at James. “He needs great care. I thought of you, my lord.”

James’s turbulent emotions—resentment, anger, and frustration—all melted away. “Me?”

“Aye,” the Huntsman said. “You would take care of him, giving him the attention he needs to thrive. Of this I am certain.”

“Me?” he repeated dumbly. The Huntsman was giving him...a gift?

Nay. This was not...was not good. How was he to fight this pull to him now?

This was an attachment he could not bear.

“‘Tis a gift, my lord,” the Huntsman said, eyes beseeching. “For you, to compensate for my tardiness.”

“May I hold him?” he asked against his good sense, awed, like a child.

“He is yours. Of course.”

“It’s been so long...we never had pets…” He never received _gifts_. At least ones so thoughtful.

The Huntsman stilled again. “Never?”

“Nay,” James said slowly, reaching out to touch the marmalade kitten. “‘Twas the thought…”

“My lord?”

He shook his head, delighting in the warm fur underneath his fingertips. “‘Tis of no importance.”

“‘Tis of importance to me,” the Huntsman said smoothly, his voice like a caress.

James’s breath hitched. ‘Twas happening _again_.

“Please. Tell me.”

The Huntsman’s voice was so gentle, he could not ignore the plea. “Not here,” he said thickly.

The Huntsman hummed. “I see a place. Come.”

He followed him, tracing the line of his broad shoulders and narrow waistline until they were beside an outbuilding, several trees hiding them from view.

“Continue,” the Huntsman said, keeping the kitten close against his chest, within the safety of the palms of his hands.

James sighed. “They thought it—”

“It?”

“ _Cats_...could cause my madness.”

“Madness?” the Huntsman repeated.

He would not look up at him. He stared at the kitten, longing to hold it. “I am certain you heard of my incident?”

The Huntsman sighed heavily, acknowledging that he had, indeed, heard. “‘Tis known by a few, my lord.”

He resignedly continued. “‘Tis a madness, not even my mother, my father, could bear for me to endure.”

“I am sorry, Prince James,” the Huntsman murmured.

“‘Tisn’t your fault.”

“Did your friend know of your madness?” the Huntsman asked, casually.

James had to hand it to him. That was...sneaky. “Aye,” he admitted.

“Where is he?”

“Spock was my trusted advisor. My …. “ James would forever hold himself responsible for his demise. “I sent him away, to Christopher.”

“King Christopher?” the Huntsman repeated.

“Aye.”

“You are close with this king?”

“He is like a father to me.”

The kitten mewed. James smiled, in spite of himself.

The Huntsman made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Would he have helped this...Spock?”

“He would. But I know naught where Spock is. I believe he perished on the journey, from the fever that had overtaken so many others.”

“I grieve...with thee,” the Huntsman murmured.

“He would...would have told me to do what felt right.”

“It sounds as if he would not hold your decision to send him away against you,” the Huntsman said.

“Nay,” James whispered.

“But you do.”

Every hour.

“Do you hear him?” the Huntsman suddenly asked, his smile lighting his face. His laughter, causing his heart to ache with longing.

James refocused, setting his attention on the kitten. The quiet purr was only a hum but he heard it, nonetheless. “Aye.”

“Here,” the Huntsman said thickly. “Take him.”

The Huntsman began to pull the kitten away from his chest, but its claws were attached to his shirt.

James chuckled. The kitten mewed in protest. “‘Twould appear he likes you.”

The other man huffed. “Aye, but these claws are as dangerous as the sword.”

The Huntsman gently tugged at the kitten’s paws. His fingers, James realized with satisfaction curling in his belly, were bare.

“Let me help you,” James said huskily. “You can’t see it from here, but his paw is snagged on a thread.”

He stepped closer to the Huntsman and gingerly grasped the kitten’s hind leg with one hand, his paw with another.

The Huntsman’s hair fell forward, brushing James’s face. He made no move to sweep it away.

“Thank you,” the Huntsman murmured, resting his hands against Jim’s hands as he worked to free the creature.

James paused, the kitten’s claws still attached. “Aye,” he whispered.

“James,” the Huntsman breathed, lowering his head.

James froze, the weight of his betrayal heavy on his shoulders. Aye, he knew what danger the Huntsman was to him. Yet he naught could move a muscle away from the barbarian. Indeed, he had moved _closer_.

_What was he doing?_

“James,” the Huntsman repeated.

He lifted James’s chin with a finger. It was so familiar, the touch turning his face upwards, but the burning desire in the Huntsman’s eyes was not. He fell into the look easily, as when he dove into the lake behind the castle, for a lazy swim. The passion which flowed from his eyes caused his to slowly churn, and he envisioned it would soon become an eternally, raging river. Nothing to stop it.

Egads, he could not look away from those eyes, the face which haunted his dreams. His nightmares. His everything.

“James, I cannot resist you,” the Huntsman murmured, his lips nearing his.

Oh, how he wanted them. To devour him whole, if they could.

“Aye,” he whispered, then flushed that his tongue had betrayed him. “Nay. The Ki—”

“‘Tisn’t here.”

James groaned. Why did the Huntsman regard his King so flippantly? “The King.”

“Is not here,” the Huntsman repeated.

James breaths were loud and foreboding in his ears, his betrayal at the forefront of his mind. But he wanted more of him, this Huntsman who had entangled them in ways he could not comprehend.

The Huntsman’s head dipped again. With whatever goodness that was left in him, James averted his face at the last possible moment.

The Huntsman’s lips _missed_.

“Aye,” James said shakily, attempting to pull away, “and that is the truth which stops me.”

“Do not deny me like this,” the Huntsman pleaded, voice wrecked. He slipped a hand around James’s waist without warning and pulled him back into him, nearly crushing the helpless kitten still caught on the threads of the Huntsman's shirt.

Nearer to him than ever, James could not find his voice. He placed his hand on the Huntsman’s chest. He meant to put distance between them. ‘Twas not distance. Nay, the warmth of the Huntsman’s body bled through the fabric of his shirt and onto his skin like a brand.

He craved more. For the intimacy the King had not given him. He longed for the Huntsman to slip his other arm around his waist, affixing him to his side. His hand another brand, one to his hip. His lips searing his, finally connecting them in the way he'd imagined.

 _But he could not._ He bowed his head, lest he burrow into the crook of the Huntsman’s neck. Look into his piercing eyes. Fall apart under his fingertips.

“Do not,” the Huntsman whispered, his lips brushing his forehead. His skin tingled where he kissed it. “I have stayed away, James. Worrying about you. Hoping for a moment alone with you. Wishing you were mine. I can bear it no more.”

James clutched the Huntsman’s shirt, torn between duty and this passion that had lit deep within his belly.

The Huntsman’s chest rumbled. “You cannot deny what is between us,” he whispered. “I see it on your face.”

“I am _wed_ ,” James said, groaning.

“Nay, not at this hour—”

“Aye,” James cried.

“Nay, not at all, Prince James. Has he taken you to his bed?” the Huntsman asserted. “‘Tis necessary to consummate the marriage, to make it binding in the eyes of the law.”

“Do not press me!”

He lifted his head, angry at the Huntsman. Angry at himself.

For simply wanting a kiss—from a man who wasn’t his.

The Huntsman’s eyes were on his lips. “Please,” he rasped. “James, I beg of you.”

James’s lips parted, his chest heaving, his mind teeming with indecision.

“I will take full responsibility,” the Huntsman said hoarsely. “For our folly. Just this once, before I succumb to losing you forever to...to _him_.”

“I—”

He stopped, faltering when the Huntsman’s eyes filled with tears, as if he’d heard James’s answer of regret. They were painful, genuine tears, reflecting what he felt so wholly and wonderfully and dangerously in his heart.

He relented in his silence. Someday, ‘twould be his undoing. For now, ‘twould be...perfection.

The words not spoken between them said everything. The Huntsman let go of the kitten altogether, its body caught between them so that it wouldn't fall.

He captured James’s face with his hands, the fire in his eyes burning so brightly that James thought he'd rid him of his clothing, instead, and lower him on the ground.

He naught had time to think. The Huntsman dipped his head—and claimed his mouth without pretense.

The Huntsman’s kiss, his mouth eager and warm over his, was all he had dreamed it would be. It surpassed his expectations. He felt consumed. Taken, but without a bed. Without the tangle of sheets and limbs. Without anything but their desires coming together in this pleasuring, passionate moment he naught would trade for anything in the world.

The Huntsman’s tongue swept his mouth, tasting him greedily. He moaned, the barbarian’s hands pressing against his face like the brand he had so desired. Hungry to taste his mouth more, he went limp against him—forgetting his gift. Forgetting that he didn’t even know this man’s true name. Forgetting the _King_.

It was not enough. Just as he knew it would not be.

He rubbed his hips against the Huntsman’s, who in turn backed him into the wall of the outbuilding.

“James,” the other man groaned. His hand slipped downward, possessively around his hip. He nudged James’s legs apart with his knee, groping his buttocks with his other hand.

He could hardly think. “Aye,” he breathed, sinking into another kiss.

“You are far more, my James,” the Huntsman rasped, pausing. “Than I’d _dreamed_ —”

“ _Mew!”_

The Huntsman lurched back, hissing as if in pain. James steadied himself and looked at him with a mixture of dismay and relief that the moment had been broken.

The Huntsman’s hands went to his chest and he fumbled to get a hold of the wriggling and disturbed kitten. The creature swiped at his hands with its one, free paw.

“Egads!” the Huntsman cursed and let go.

Still breathless from the Huntsman’s onslaught on his mouth, James caught the kitten just in time. A creature so small for the distraction and injury it had caused.

“You're hurt,” James said, watching as blood dotted the Huntsman’s shirt.

The Huntsman scowled, holding his hand to his chest. “‘Tis a scratch.”

“Aye, and another on your hand.” He swallowed and set the kitten down at his feet. “Let me see.”

He grabbed the Huntsman’s hand. Despite this, the mere touch of his hand was comforting, despite its callouses.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized this was an opportunity. If he could have his way, he would not let go of his hand anytime soon.

“Nay—”

He set his jaw. “Aye.”

The Huntsman sighed. “‘Tisn’t worth the trouble.”

“Aye, it is,” he muttered, tightening his hold, refusing to let him pull away. “Let me see, _Huntsman_ ,” he said more harshly than he’d intended.

The Huntsman’s eyes widened. He wordlessly nodded.

“Good,” James said curtly.

In truth, he was relieved the Huntsman had conceded. Egads. Who was the Prince, after all?

“‘Twill need cleaned,” he murmured while inspecting the scratches. “I see a well just beyond the closest tree.”

The Huntsman groaned. “Not here.”

James ignored him. “Aye. Here.” He paused. “Or do you have something against the villeins?”

“Only of being nursed,” the Huntsman muttered as James let go of his hand. “Like a child.” He glared down at the mewling kitten. “‘Tis a bear, not a kitten!”

Amused, James’s lips twitched. He lifted the tiny ‘bear’ in his arms.

“Aye, you laugh at my expense,” the Huntsman grumbled.

He tried to maintain a straight face; he could not help but think those scratches hurt, especially if they were bleeding, but he succumbed to a short laugh.

“‘Tisn’t funny.” the Huntsman complained like a youth.

He did not wish to offend him, but the Huntsman was acting like the child he so feared to be. “No one will see you.”

“There are eyes everywhere,” he said, lifting his head to look around. “You do not know, but there are.”

James frowned, a warning going off in his head. “You were watching me earlier, weren't you?”

The Huntsman’s mouth clamped shut.

“You were,” James said, taking a breath. “When?”

“Not I,” the Huntsman said slowly. ”Someone else.”

He didn't know what to think of that. Had they heard what he had discussed with Kevin and Janice? And if they had, would they inform the King?

“Follow me,” he said, his temper shortening.

They made the short walk to the well in silence. James set the kitten by his feet. He took off his jacket for ease of movement, relieved to rid himself of it. He pulled up the water bucket by himself, glaring at the Huntsman when he reached to take care of it, instead.

“You are angry,” the Huntsman said, pulling back.

He snorted. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I will not apologize for kissing you,” the Huntsman said quietly.

James took hold of the hem of his own shirt and began to rip off a piece.

The Huntsman blinked. “Is that necessary? ‘Tis a scratch—”

“You’re hurt,” he replied curtly. “Because of me. I’ll be the one to fix it.”

“Aye, Prince James,” the Huntsman’s voice was tender. “I can see ‘twill be the only way to...assuage your guilt…after what we’ve done.”

He’d never been so angry and full of passion in his life. He’d never been so foolish, either. “You will not touch me again,” he whispered, his heart painfully constricting, squeezed of any hope that he’d ever have a second kiss.

The Huntsman hissed in a breath. “Aye.”

Hands shaking, James tipped the bucket and water poured onto the cloth. He rung it out, then unfolded it. He looked at the Huntsman. “This will sting.”

The Huntsman’s breath hitched as he dabbed at his wound with the cloth.

“And you will not speak of what happened,” James demanded, still cleaning.

“I will take it to my grave,” the Huntsman agreed quietly.

James frowned and ripped another piece from his shirt. He wrapped it around the Huntsman’s hand, gently as not to hurt him.

Then realized he’d forgotten about the Huntsman’s chest.

He stared at the broadness of his torso, the strength that he could see before his very eyes. ‘Twasn’t difficult to imagine the bare skin underneath that he would be required to clean. The muscle he would be required to touch.

Egads. He could not.

“Clean the other...yourself,” he struggled to say. “It would please me, Huntsman.”

“My lord?”

“I cannot do it,” he whispered, the cloth slipping from his fingers into the bucket.

The Huntsman looked at him, confused.

He bent down and scooped up his kitten. “I will find another way to the castle.”

“But you cannot.”

“I m-must go,” he whispered, turning.

The Huntsman gripped his wrist as he turned away, his eyes narrowing. “I will not unhand you, my lord. For anything.”

Could he hear the rapid beating of his heart?

“You must,” he whispered, but he knew... _he knew_...that the Huntsman meant what he said.

What did that mean for James—and the King?

“Nay,” the Huntsman said hoarsely. “‘Tis against my nature.”

“‘Tisn’t mine,” James said, breaking off before his emotions bubbled to the surface.

The Huntsman straightened. “I will take care of this other scratch now,” he asserted loudly. “Since it pleases you, Prince James. Stand with your back to me while I take off my shirt.”

James blinked. How had he known he could not watch him?

“My lord,” the Huntsman pressed, as if they had an audience. “‘Tis indecent for you to watch.”

They stared at each other for a moment, each weighing their options, James also wondering how he would keep this from the King, after all. It appeared that Leonard was beginning to understand when a fit of melancholy was upon him, which was how he felt at this very moment. How was he to hide his burning desire for a man who was not his husband? How was he to hide how distracted he became when thoughts of him crossed his mind? How was he to hide this yearning he had for more? The insatiable longing?

The Huntsman stepped closer. To his dismay, he reached up and cupped the side of James’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek.

It was a tender touch he'd naught even received from his King.

The Huntsman's gaze—everything about him—mesmerized him.

He wanted _this_ to last. He wanted it to end. He wanted more of him—he wanted less.

He felt like a part of him would die if the Huntsman were missing from his life...

He was doomed to this state of confusion.

“I promise,” the Huntsman said hoarsely. “with all that I am—with the little honor that is left within me—that he will never know.”

But he would.

“Nor will he know if it happens again,” the Huntsman added huskily, his eyes searching his face. “I do not give up so easily, Prince James.”

Did the Huntsman enjoy torturing his heart? He took a breath. He had naught to do but make sure it never happened again.

“Do not touch me,” he whispered miserably. “Turn around. Take care of the wound and accompany me to the carriage. That is all you are to do. Then, you will take me to the villeins’ houses, three total for now, before we return to the castle and I tend to the Duke of Marmalade.”

The Huntsman blinked. “The Duke of Marmalade?”

“‘Tis the bear’s name,” James said, petting the back of the kitten’s neck.

The Huntsman’s eyes filled with mirth, as he looked fondly upon him. He gently stroked Jim’s jaw with his thumb. “‘Tis a fine name.”

“For the time being I go in alone,” James managed, the tender touch as distracting as it was soothing.

The Huntsman’s hand stilled, and James did not want it to. “For your protection, I must accompany you into these homes—”

“Nay, I will speak with them alone.”

“The King is concerned for you, that you will push yourself, my lord. He ordered me to—”

“I _will_ see them and on my own terms,” he said vehemently. “You forget yourself. I do not need your permission, Huntsman. And, as you've said before, the _King_ is not here.”

The Huntsman’s expression was inscrutable.

“Unhand me,” James demanded.

Finally, the Huntsman gave a slow nod and dropped his hand from James’s cheek. “Aye, my lord.”

He did as he was told and turned away. So did James. He tucked Marmalade underneath his chin, reveling in his warmth and comfort as he waited for the Huntsman.

All he had to do was stay calm. Keep his distance from the Huntsman, and look into the King’s eyes without guilt. Fighting his inner turmoil, he closed his eyes and buried his face into the kitten’s soft, pliable body.

And tried not to picture the Huntsman, able-bodied and well-muscled, standing without his shirt by the well.

The burly young man named Cake, who had watched them from the shadows of the single window of the outbuilding the entire time, let the curtain fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one...despite the cliffie. I'd love to know if you did! James is more torn than ever, and the Huntsman is...well...playing with fire, a bit. 
> 
> I'll probably be writing a scene or two in the Huntsman's or the King's POV next time, splitting the chapter with James's POV, too. Also, Happy Monday! If you're anything like me, Monday after a holiday is always a little rough, so pace yourself, friends, and find yourself a little extra time to read more fic. :D


	8. Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James's POV is first. Then the POV of another. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy the read!

 

Once his visits were finished, three as promised—he wouldn’t test the King by lingering longer than that, no matter how badly he wanted to speak to his former villeins—James climbed into the carriage. His kitten cried pitifully. He could only imagine it was distressed with its temporary home, a basket he’d purchased from a young boy selling his mother’s woven wares.

Disturbed by the boy’s worn shoes and ragged coat, he’d given the remainder of his coins to him. As he’d walked away, he had silently vowed to request more coins from the King, in hopes that he could distribute the money another day to others in need. ‘Twas the time, at least it would have been in James’s country, when the royal family distributed their yearly gifts to servants and villeins. Winter was slowly but surely coming upon them.

“Mew!” the kitten’s eyes were bright.

James smiled down at Marmalade and set the basket on his lap to ensure the frightened kitten’s safety. “I can see, already, that we are going to be great friends,” he whispered when they were alone.

Unfortunately, the Huntsman had followed him, and settled in the seat across from him. James sighed. He cared naught that the man had heard him talk to the kitten like he was a companion, and a human, at that. Only that the Huntsman continued to be...a nuisance.

A nuisance that was pleasing to the eye. A reminder of his betrayal.

His presence was far from welcome.

“Care to tell me your name?” James asked. He refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him and, instead, gazed out into the pitch black of the evening.

Aye, he’d only visited three homes. However, the conversations he'd had with the villeins had lengthened and swelled, just like the darkness in the sky.

“Why do you care to know, my lord?” the Huntsman asked slowly.

He feigned interest in the torches lining the road. “‘Twould be useful to me.”

For when he told the King that he could not be near this man.

The Huntsman hesitated. “My name is H—”

The coach lurched forward, cutting him off. The barbarian's knee brushed against James’s, his bandaged hand reaching across the way to help steady the basket on James’s lap.

“Was that necessary?” James asked coolly, staring unflinchingly in the silence between them.

“I apologize,” the Huntsman murmured, withdrawing his hand. “‘Twas an accident.”

James took the kitten out of the basket and held him close. “You lie as badly as you keep promises.”

“I am staying away from you, am I not?”

“Our definitions of ‘away’ differ, Huntsman,” James said dryly.

“Aye,” the Huntsman agreed. “As I told you before, I will not take the kiss back.”

“Do not speak of it,” he scorned the memory, already. And the Huntsman’s answer.

Was his name truly Huntsman? Or, maybe it was a name which was wrong for him. Like Horse. Or something quite horrid and strange. Like...Hipbone. Or, worse, Honor.

This man had none.

But, then again, neither did he.

He cared naught to know his name, after all. He would not revisit his previous request. What were names, other than a label? He, of all people, knew that better than most. Prince James—King James—did not define him. Nor did madman. He was a product of his parents. His youth. His hopes and dreams. His perseverance.

His mistakes.

Could he go back, he would not have kissed the Huntsman but pushed him away with the force of his hand. For now, his desire had become an incessant urging he would not act upon. His hands safely occupied by the gift the Huntsman himself had bestowed upon him. Not the barbarian’s long locks. Or his bearded jaw and chin. Or the bulging arms capable of pressing his body against a wall to claim a kiss.

Sweat pooled at the back of his neck, but he did not raise his hand to wipe it away and rid himself of the discomforting drip. He kept still, as did the Huntsman, whose eyes never strayed from his face.

Aye he was the hunter and he, James, the prey. Just as he’d been in the forest that fateful day.

The air was stifling inside the coach, but finally they reached the castle and the coach stopped. James sat, unmoving, despite the promise of freedom within arm’s reach. The only comfort he had was the kitten, whose purring had sounded like the rumble of a bear the entire ride. Perhaps the Huntsman had been correct to call this creature a ‘bear.’ Truly, he had never heard a small creature produce such a sound.

The coachman opened the door, and the barbarian prepared to leave.

James bit his tongue and cast his glance outside.

“He will return naught this eve.” The Huntsman paused at the door. “He sends his regrets.”

The Huntsman’s second pause was longer than the first.

James rolled his eyes, grateful that the other man was unable to see his face as he did so. “So you have said,” he muttered. “Will he return by morning?”

“Are you angry with him, as well, my lord?”

James looked sharply at him. ‘Twas a strange thing to ask. And a bit forward, even for the Huntsman. Never mind that he could read him so well. “With myself.”

“He will notice,” the Huntsman said, the soft voice only aggravating his guilty conscience.

James could answer naught. He sounded...so _certain_. Like a man who knew Leonard better than anyone.

Doubt settled in his belly, mixing sourly with the guilt eating away at him. He discreetly wrapped a hand around his stomach, feeling ill. ‘Twould be best if the Huntsman pitied him and left, instead of delaying the inevitable.

What would the King notice?

“He cares for you, Prince James,” the Huntsman said as if he needed reassurance of the King’s fidelity.

Who would assure the King of _his_?

“He notices everything. I will tell him about the kitten,” he continued, “that you rescued it. He need naught know I gave it to you, my lord.”

James swallowed his pride. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, just to make him leave.

The Huntsman bowed his head. “I will always be of service to you, Prince James.”

“And I shall always decline it…” Egads. He had to separate this man from the only name he had for him. _Huntsman_ , the man for whom he held affection despite his guilt. He thought of the King. Of his secrets. Of books. Of feeling stripped bare of his dignity since being hauled off on the Huntsman’s horse.

And said the first thing that came to his mind.

“ _Bones_.” The name, as distasteful as he meant it to be, rolled off of his tongue.

A flash of surprise crossed the Huntsman’s face. “ _Bones_ ,” he repeated. He schooled his features and simply gave him a long look before stepping out of the coach.

The door firmly closed, James breathed a sigh of relief that he was now alone, save for a handful of guardsmen, and free to retreat to the castle which loomed ahead. ‘Twas a lonely place, a place of secrets. Aye, and tonight, he would not discover any more of them. ‘Twas after dusk, and he had a kitten to watch over. And no King for whom to wait.

He made his way quietly up to his bedchamber, wishing the King trusted him enough to give him more duties. Or allow him to accompany him to the Hunting Room. Or, permit him to open the closed corridors of the castle.

Instead of leaving him here, left to his own devises, to discover what he could do on his own. It was a strange way of living for James; he was not used to it. The days passed as they had before, only he was losing contact with the world around him as they did so. Even now, after the visit with Kevin, Janice, and the villeins, he was not himself. He was not himself, having succumbed to his passions. He was not himself, having been rude to a man who, other than his kiss with James, was loyal to the King.

Would he ever be himself again?

A mewling Marmalade in tow, James entered his room. He was relatively unsurprised to see Gaila already there and tending to his fire. However, he was unprepared for the changes to his room he had not requested. At least, he remembered them naught. Had he spoken to Gaila in his sleep about it? To the King?

“Good eve, my lord,” she said.

He was slow to answer. His eyes swept the room, missing nothing. Cornflower blue velvet curtains now hung, instead of the stiff fabric the King had preferred, falling to the floor in a puddle. The blanket on his bed had been exchanged for a quilt of the same blue, with a white fur folded at the foot of the bed. One look. The color of the rug matched the fur, as did the peculiar plant beside the bed.

And there were books. Not only books, but books on shelves.

“Who did this?” he questioned.

Though his tone had been gentle, she flinched before softening her features and curtsying. “The King requested it, Prince James.”

How could he believe such a thing? The King had banished all that was light in his life. “The King,” he repeated with a short laugh.

Her eyes remained cast down at her feet. “Aye.”

He set the basket with his kitten on the floor. He liked the changes. He only wished…he only hoped...that the King did, too.

‘Twas strange. It seemed natural that Leonard would have kept the somber decor. Not trade it for something of life. A reminder of their new life together. Of beginnings.

Why had he done this? Had he given him reason to believe that he wasn’t happy? That he wasn’t content in this new life?

Had he given him any reason that he was content? If the Huntsman was as close to the King as he now assumed him to be, and he discussed anything with him that he might have overheard at Kevin’s—then he would know for himself. Without Spock, without any contact with King Christopher, he was lonely and dissatisfied.

“My lord.”

“Hmmm?” James sat on the bed, at a loss. He could remain here and wait like a man doomed to a life of complacency. Or, he could—

Gaila giggled. “Your kitten has escaped.”

“What?”

“ _Mew_!”

He glanced down to see two paws stuck on the fabric of his breeches.

“Where did ye find such a sweet thing?” Gaila cooed, kneeling at his feet to inspect the kitten.

James, for a moment, considered spilling his secret to her. Instead, he smiled softly down at the kitten and shook his head. “I found it naught. ‘Twas given to me by one of...by a friend.”

“A friend?” she echoed, helping the kitten unhook its paws.

Once it was free, she rocked back on her heels and held Marmalade on her lap.

“Aye.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know his name,” he said honestly.

She giggled. “Oh, Prince James. Why does that surprise me naught?”

He flushed. “I’m that predictable?”

“Aye, ye are, my lord. And its name?” she asked, lifting it up by its neck to inspect it at eye level. She laughed and pressed it against her chest, rubbing her nose across its fur, before placing it on the ground and watching it tumble.

He smiled, the sight of Gaila enjoying the gift releasing the tension from his shoulders. “The Duke of Marmalade.”

“‘Tis a strong name,” she said without hesitation.

“I will need to train it.” He rubbed his jaw. “Find a box. Food.”

“Let me take care of these things. Ye look weary, my lord.”

He did not want to admit it, but he had yet to regain his strength from the fever.

Gaila gathered the kitten in her arms and stood. “Here,” she said softly, placing him on Jim’s lap. “Let him play. I shall return soon, with food and a box, Prince James.”

After she left, James walked over to a window and set down Marmalade at his feet. He looked out, hoping to see a carriage pulling up to the castle, or horses lighted by torches. Any indication that the King was returning. Seeing nothing but pitch black, he slid down to sit beside Marmalade with his back against the wall.

The kitten pounced at a lump of velvet curtain, looking crestfallen when there was nothing underneath but the hard floor.

James chuckled. “Marmalade, what you need...is a mouse.”

Marmalade plopped on his stomach and stared up at him. “Mew!”

His heart melted at the small voice. “Aye,” he said solemnly. “‘Tisn’t easy being in a new place, but I shall always watch over you.”

Marmalade wiggled from his spot and returned to its previous efforts of finding a rodent that wasn’t there. Soon, however, the kitten was twisted up in a mess of its own making.

James laughed while gently tugging the curtain away from its body. “You get yourself in a lot of trouble, don’t you, little scamp? Indeed, you are not alone, my friend.”

Marmalade blinked up at him.

James sighed, imagining the warmth of the Huntsman’s lips and the passion of their kiss. “So do I.”

 

oOo

 

The moonlight illuminating a path he’d fashioned himself and knew like the back of his hand, he made his way along the edge the woods, the area directly behind the hunting lodge. He reached the familiar clearing, tripping on nary a root, and pressed on at the same hurried pace. A figure was already there, standing in front of a vine-covered wall. It didn’t take him long to determine just who it was that was waiting for him.

He should have known Geoffrey would arrive at the Hunting Lodge before he did. He had been gone much longer than he’d promised he would be. Four hours longer.

“‘Twasn’t good for Prince James to be alone,” he justified himself, as he reached Geoffrey. “The King gave strict orders.”

He reached for the loose brick near the latch, but Geoffrey grabbed him by the arm before he could pull it out.

He let go of the brick and glared at Geoffrey, irritated that he’d stopped him, although he was the only one he’d ever given permission to restrain him physically. They had a shared childhood together, no more no less, but ‘twas enough for them both to remain friends after all of these years.

Geoffrey’s hand tightened around his bicep. “I know what _the King_ said, and you were told that I needed to observe him as much as possible.”

“And you may. After he retires.”

“What I didn’t tell you is this,” Geoffrey continued on as if he hadn’t heard. “I need to observe _everything_. What he eats—”

“Shouldn’t you be informing the King of this?” he snapped, cutting him off. It irritated him that he hadn’t been informed of the specifics before he’d left.

Geoffrey threw him a reproachful look. “We have been through this before.”

“And look where that got me.” He pulled his arm away from the doctor and stalked forward.

Geoffrey sighed from behind him as he removed the brick. “Wait.”

He shook his head, and pulled the latch, waiting as the hidden door slid open. “I cannot.”

The longer he was delayed, the longer he’d be before he returned to James. And that wouldn’t do. He’d left him in quite a state.

He swatted the vines away that dangled by his head and slipped through the narrow way that the door provided. Once inside, he was relieved to see that the candles had already been lit along the narrow staircase. He tilted his head back. The lights continued up to the third floor of the lodge, a sign from his guardsman that it was safe to enter. He took the stairs, two steps at a time to the ground floor, determined to resolve whatever it was that was vexing Geoffrey in the privacy of his own quarters in the lodge rather than outside in the open. Did Geoffrey not understand all that was required of him this evening? That he did not have time for this?

“We must discuss this,” Geoffrey insisted, right behind him.

“Aye, but we cannot discuss it here,” he grumbled, glancing back over his shoulder.

Geoffrey's mouth was set in a grimmer line than usual. It was unlike him to be this pessimistic. “That is what you always say. Even when we’re here, in a place like this, sequestered in one of your havens, as you call them.”

“They're _necessary_ havens,” he reminded him.

Geoffrey never blinked. “I’d prefer to call them Rooms of the Wretched Royal or Lairs of the Self-Loathing.”

He ignored the barbs—even if they did, indeed, speak the truth—and continued on to the top. Once there, still within the hidden section of the lodge, he finally stopped and gave the doctor his full attention. “‘Tis what's necessary. I have learned that there are eyes and ears everywhere.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “You do have a part in that.”

He huffed. “‘Tis the only way.”

“As I’ve told you before, I don’t believe it is.”

“Aye, you’ve told me this once or twice.”

“Maybe if I keep suggesting it, you’ll finally believe me,” Geoffrey retorted.

He would not. He _could_ not. Scowling, he inclined his head towards the guardsmen, who stood on either side of the hidden entrance to his room. There were less than two dozen men and women who knew of his duplicity, six of whom were guardsman, twelve of whom were his most trusted Huntsmen. That left Geoffrey, Gaila, and several others he trusted with his life.

“I do not wish to be bothered,” he demanded of the guards. “For anything. Let them know on the other side, and have one of them tell Maurin that I’ve returned.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” the guards replied.

He ushered Geoffrey inside and shut the door behind them. “Explain,” he ordered, sinking into the large chair behind his desk. He reached underneath the desk for one of his hidden drawers.

“I’ve been reviewing my own notes on the mind,” Geoffrey said. “Every single one since I began my medical training.”

He pulled out the items he was looking for and set all but one on the desk. “Go on.”

“I see correlations which trouble me.”

He shrugged off his shirt, tossing it to the floor. “I do not like the sound of that.”

He put on the shirt he’d retrieved from his desk, one more fitting for a king, and leaned back in his chair. As Geoffrey began to explain, he inwardly sighed, wishing he had a moment to free himself of his boots and elevate his feet for awhile. Living life as two men was not easy, even with assistance. Now that he was married to James, it was proving to be even more difficult. Especially when he wished to don the mask at all times in order to remain close to him.

Nay, he could not. The villeins would have run away from _both_ of them had he walked alongside James as the masked barbarian; they all knew what atrocities he was capable of. He could not do that to his James, and aggravate his sense of isolation.

Yet, hadn’t he caused James great difficulty, nonetheless?

Kissing James as the Huntsman had been a rash decision, with consequences. The last thing he had wanted to do was confuse his husband, or cause him to feel guilty. Ironically, he'd managed to do both.

But that wasn’t all. He’d possibly jeopardized his cover. He couldn't help but think that if he kissed him as passionately as he had as the Huntsman that James would then discover his secret.

If only James wasn't so delectable. He longed to run his hands through James’s silken hair at his leisure, his fingers along his strong, stubbled jaw, his lips across his handsome face. James’s strength of spirit had captured his heart in the forest; his exquisite body had captured his dreams.

He wanted _all_ of James. To lose himself—Leonard—and his barbaric ways in the depths of their passion. To see those sky blue eyes staring at him in adoration as they made love, without constraint, without trepidation.

‘Tis a fool’s wish. Nay, after that kiss, he'd naught have his husband's adoration as either the Huntsman or the King.

“—and most of them point to diet. More specifically, the long-term effects of a poor di—” Geoffrey stopped mid-sentence. “Leonard.”

Frowning, he glanced up at him. “What?”

Geoffrey braced his arms on the desk and got in his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Aye.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. “Repeat to me what I just said.”

He winced. “Nay, I cannot.”

“This is important,” Geoffrey said heatedly. “It should be the most important thing on your mind!”

“I know,” he said quietly, hating that he was even trying to excuse himself. “I am...troubled. Greatly troubled, Geoffrey.”

His friend sighed exasperatedly. “What did you do now?”

“What does that mean?” he asked, defensive.

Geoffrey gave him a look. “If you can’t figure it out, starting with the way you kidnapped James and forced him to wed you—”

“I kissed him without my mask on,” he said quickly, cutting him off before he reminded him of all of the grievances he’d committed against James. This one was bad enough. “As a huntsman.”

He'd kissed him, a man he was slowly coming—dare he admit it to himself—to love.

Geoffrey straightened, even more accusation firing from his eyes like flaming arrows. “What? Tell me you _didn’t_.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, massaging his temple with both hands. “He is my husband.”

“Aye, that may be so, but _he_ doesn’t know that he's also married to one of the King’s huntsman,” Geoffrey said through clenched teeth.

“He acted like he did,” he said, raising a smug brow.

“You’ve gone too far.”

Leonard closed his eyes, wincing again. He couldn’t massage his forehead hard enough to get rid of the guilty ache that had settled there. “I don’t need to be reminded of that fact,” he whispered.

“Aye, you do,” Geoffrey clipped. “At least you can acknowledge you did the wrong thing. That is the first step.”

Leonard snorted. “If he finds out—”

“If?” Geoffrey asked with a mirthless laugh. “You can’t possibly be planning to continue hiding who you really are from him?”

Leonard lifted his head and rolled his shoulders. “I cannot tell him.”

“Can’t?” Geoffrey crossed his arms. “Or won’t?”

It was a fair question, but one that Leonard could not answer. Not even to himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Geoff, but sometimes I hate you.”

“Duly noted. You need someone to keep you in line—and I promised your father I would before he died.”

His mood suddenly darkened more, if that was even possible. “Do not speak of him,” he seethed.

Of all people, Geoffrey knew that speaking of his father was taboo. A cursed topic. A memory which had _caused_ this entire charade of his in the first place.

Geoffrey nodded, the emotion in his eyes unmistakable. “Aye, I will speak of him. If I do not, who else will in my stead?”

Leonard opened his mouth to continue their heated debate—but was cut off by a loud knock on the door.

He slammed a fist on the desk, Geoffrey, James, his father, and the interruption clamoring all at once for his attention. “Egads! I told them I did not wish to be bothered.”

“Your Majesty?” a guard called from behind the thick door.

Geoffrey picked up the King’s mask and held it in front of him. Leonard wordlessly took it and placed it over his face. It fit as it always did, hiding every familiar feature. With it, he was a feared man, but at least he could sleep at night.

Without it, he was forced to look at himself in the mirror and try to reconcile that face with the beast that he had become—and also loathed.

“Your majesty?” the guard repeated.

“Aye, one moment.” Leonard cursed under his breath and tied his hair back. He clutched one of the gloves in a moment of indecisiveness, but ultimately set it back on the desk. It would not fit over his hand, not with it bandaged as it was. He had larger ones in another secret passageway, one within the castle.

“What happened?” Geoffrey grasped Leonard’s hand, inspecting it with a frown.

“A bear,” he muttered.

“What?” Geoffrey exclaimed, looking at the bandage more closely.

“Kitten,” he admitted ruefully.

Geoffrey cocked an eye.

He shrugged. “I gave it to James as a gift.”

The doctor’s lips twitched. “I see.” He let go. “Your James tended to it?”

“Aye.” He stood. “Will you unlock the door?”

Geoffrey gave him cautious look. “Will you behave?”

“Always,” he muttered.

“Will you take me to see James once you’re done here?”

“Aye.”

“Will you tell James that you’re his Huntsman?” Geoffrey asked the question so smoothly that he almost answered the same.

Leonard caught himself just in time. “Never.”

Geoffrey sighed. “I fear you are becoming entangled in this web of your own making, never to come out of it unscathed. And now, you're taking him, your own husband, down with you.”

“Aye, that may be so,” Leonard said quietly. “But you and James— all of us—will wake up tomorrow. Alive.”

Geoffrey just shook his head as he went over to unlock the main door. The guards entered, a tall, thickly muscled youth between them.

One of James’s former villeins. If his memory served him right, a tin maker.

The guards bowed their heads. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but he was insistent that he see you. He had this in his possession.” One of the guards raised his hands, revealing a small package wrapped in cloth. “He claims it belongs to Prince James. That he found it, on the ground by a villein’s home.”

Leonard inclined his head to Geoffrey, who then took it from the guard. “Your name, Villein?”

The man lifted his chin. The defiance on his face was alarming, but it was the fact that he had gone out of his way to seek out the King that caused the most unease to stir in his stomach.

“Cake,” the man said loudly.

“I suppose I should thank you for coming all this way to return this to your former King,” Leonard stated formally.

Cake blinked. “I...have…that is…”

Leonard arched a brow. “Speak your mind, Cake. I do have other pressing matters to tend to.”

Cake’s nostrils flared. “I saw Prince James—”

“By God’s bones!” Geoffrey roared.

Leonard lurched back, his heart lodging in his throat at the unprecedented sound. He swallowed with difficulty and glared at the doctor. For two reasons. One, because, for a split second, he’d thought James was here and had called him by that dastardly name again. Secondly, because he’d just caused him to startle like a fool in front of a man of much lower status.

“Geoffrey,” he warned.

Geoffrey strode up to him, the cloth package that the guard had given him opened in the palm of his hands. “This is the answer. He’s being poisoned!’

Leonard took a deep breath, his heart not quite returned to its spot in his chest. “Who is?”

Geoffrey set his jaw. “Your James.”

“What?”

“Look,” Geoffrey said, indicating with his head the contents in his hands. Leonard only saw mushrooms. Edible mushrooms which were common in James’s country but not in his. “These are poisoning him.”

His heart went back up to his throat. “Someone is—”

Geoffrey shook his head. “Nay, not intentionally. ‘Tis a food I am sure all his people have grown accustomed to eating, as it is possibly part of their everyday fare. It is reasonable to believe that all have grown accustomed to it—except for Prince James. His birth was premature—and he suffered several illnesses as a child.”

Leonard scowled. He had not known either of these facts about his own husband.

“It is possible his body, weakened in childhood by his early birth, caused him to be susceptible to this condition. I've seen drawings of these mushrooms in my books. I know what they can do to a body ill-equipped to handle them. Their effects are likened to insanity.” Geoffrey looked up at him, sadness in his eyes. “Your Majesty, I must suggest that any food the villeins brought with them be destroyed. And others asked if they have suffered from similar symptoms.”

“We’ll burn it,” Leonard said flatly. “I'll have my men take care of this at once. Inspect every kitchen, every inch of their homes, and burn any food that these villeins have smuggled into my kingdom. Those who don't submit to my will shall spend two fortnights in the dungeon.”

It was harsh and would be seen as even more barbaric—one more cruelty to add to his name—but it was necessary. He wouldn't allow this to continue.

“Your Majesty—” Cake began.

“You may go,” Leonard commanded of him, in no mood to deal with him when his husband was at risk. “I thank you for bringing this to our attention. You will be rewarded.”

“It will take time, but I do think Prince James will be fine, my lord,” Geoffrey said softly.

He was not so certain. “He partook of a meal with his friends this evening,” he said under his breath.

Geoffrey sucked in a large breath. “God’s bones—”

“Stop _saying_ that,” he hissed.

The doctor’s eyes filled with indignation. “He could be feeling the effects of this soon—and anything else that he ate that came from his lands. Bread—”

“Bread?” he echoed.

“Aye. Wheat could also be a contributing factor. James’s country has been known to experience the effects of long-term changes in weather.”

“Where did you learn this?” he asked suspiciously.

“Gaila, Your Majesty, who is also concerned for Prince James.”

“Then let us go immediately. I will let Maurin handle the poachers.” His cousin, who bore a great resemblance to him in both looks and voice, had already confessed his growing weariness of donning the mask when he was not around. But he would not mind pretending to be him in this case.

Punishing a poacher was interesting, to say the least. Make it four poachers that they had finally captured and imprisoned, and it was an event, indeed. He picked up his pen and dipped it in ink. He then scrawled a message on a loose sheet of paper, his progress hampered by the bandage. After a moment, he folded and sealed it.

“Guards, I need three riders to leave immediately and travel to King Christopher’s lands and hand deliver this message to him,” he said. “Send Gabriel, Sedgewick, and Randall to the stables. Tell them to wait for me there, where I will give them final instructions.”

“Consider it done, my lord.”

“Your Majesty, I must speak with you,” an insistent voice nagged him.

Egads, Cake had not left yet?

Leonard ignored him and handed the message to the closest guard. “Tell them they must avoid the roads blocked by Nero. I have no intention of starting a war.”

“Aye my Lord,” the guard murmured.

“I saw...saw…” Cake stumbled over his words, his eyes on Leonard’s hand. “Your Majesty, your hand. You’re injured.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes. “‘Tis a scratch. Nothing of consequence.”

Cake blinked several times. “A...scratch?”

Leonard exchanged a look with Geoffrey. Was this man a simpleton? “Aye.”

Something resembling a smirk crossed over Cake’s face. “A bear?”

The villein was a simpleton. “Can a bear scratch a man without killing him? I think not. Be gone with ye,” he said curtly.

Cake backed away with a bowed head, suddenly obedient. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I will be on my way.”

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief when the man disappeared out of the doorway, the guards flanking him.

“What was all that about?” Geoffrey asked, a strange look on his face as he stared after them.

“I know naught,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Frankly, nor do I care.”

“No.” Geoffrey turned back to him. “The letter you sent.”

“I’m going to find him,” he announced as they made their way back down the secret passageway.

“Who?”

Leonard paused, pressing a hand against the cold wall. “James’s closest companion, Spock.”

The man he believed could very likely be alive. But he’d find him, dead _or_ alive.

Geoffrey paled, no doubt thinking of the outside dangers one faced when traveling in such a small number. “You’d risk their lives? Why?”

He laughed, its dark ring echoing in the hollows of the passageway. “To earn James’s forgiveness, of course.”

For the lies he simply could not stop feeding him.

“There are easier ways to earn that which you most want, my friend,” Geoffrey said gently.

His guilt swelled, a measure of insecurity along with it. Geoffrey’s tone was full of the compassion he usually reserved for his young patients. Not for him, a savage King who could not face what he’d become.

“The truth, for example,” Geoffrey continued. “In fact, it could earn you more.”

“What _more_ could I possibly want?” He could not help that the worry he felt for James bled through as sarcasm. Nor did he apologize for it.

“I think you know.”

“Enlighten me,” he retorted.

Geoffrey’s sigh was long-suffering—and he deserved it. “His love and trust. Peace with yourself.”

Leonard’s breath hitched. Aye, sometimes he did hate his friend for his honesty.

“Do I ever do things the easy way?” he muttered, hurrying down the steps. He had get to James as soon as possible. Behind the lodge was the quickest route to the stable. And, after he spoke with his Huntsmen and saddled his own horse, the swiftest way to the castle. Gaila would be with James, as he’d requested of her, but it was not the same. He could not bear the thought of James suffering alone, enduring his madness without him, the effects of this poison degrading his body.

“Nay,” Geoffrey murmured, interrupting his thoughts from behind. “I fear that you do not.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Huntsman and King Leonard are one and the same! I honestly never intended for that to be questioned so much, though I wanted you to wonder a bit. :D At least now you know for sure! There IS a decoy (his cousin). In a previous chapter, after Leonard came in with firewood, he had plenty of time to switch places with Maurin. James went back to his table to finish eating before returning again to watch the Huntsmen out his window - the perfect opportunity to make the switch. Leonard uses secret passageways to get to places quicker and to also change his clothing. He’s worked with Maurin for a long time, so they’re able to change places smoothly.
> 
> Cake now knows Leonard’s ultimate secret…which is way worse than just believing James is cheating on the King.
> 
> I allude to the beginning of Leonard’s mask-wearing...it does have to do the death of his father. There is more to it than that, however. :(
> 
> Diamondblue4, thank you, my friend, for reading over this chapter and offering many encouraging comments. Hugs.
> 
> I’m working on another chapter already, which I hope to post by the end of the week. Thanks so much for reading! Please, review? :)


	9. Longing

 

“Thank you for staying.” James watched as Gaila poured water into one of Marmalade’s new food dishes.

He had already filled it earlier, when she’d first brought the dishes up to his bedchamber. It turned out, however, that not only was his kitten a creature with mighty claws but one with an even mightier appetite. It had lapped up all of the water in his dish like there was no tomorrow. His heart ached for he could only imagine how neglected his kitten had been, lost and all alone, before the Huntsman had found it.

That the Huntsman had taken the time to bring the kitten to him was a wonder in and of itself. Was he not a barbarian? What was at the center of this man, for him to care for a tiny kitten? His heart must not be completely hardened by his savagery, to show such a crack in his armor.

“It made this bearable,” he admitted quietly.

“This?” she questioned, giving Marmalade a pat on his head.

“The waiting.” He gave her a small smile, and dutifully sipped one of her concoctions.

She’d made it for him earlier, when a strange paranoia had stolen over him, one that hadn't quite completely disappeared. He wasn’t keen on the flavor of the mixture, but it was warm going down and he appreciated that feeling enough to drink it all. Ever since he’d left the Huntsman's presence, he’d been cold. Even sitting here by the fire had provided little comfort. At least to his heart.

It took everything within him not to call the guards and demand they escort him to the Hunting Lodge—so he could see his King. Would he make those demands and find him, he would tell Leonard, in private, that he was, indeed, ready to see what was under the mask...

...and consummate their marriage.

“There’s no need to thank me, my lord,” Gaila said, smiling as she set the pitcher back on a table. “‘Tis my duty.”

“Oh.” James fought a prick of disappointment.

Of course she was here because it was her duty to the King. It wasn’t like she was Spock. A friend, who would be there for him. She wasn’t quite a friend. Not really. No one ever was. Even Kevin, who, at times, was a young man James had to guide like a father would.

She frowned at him, placing her hands on her hips. “I upset ye, did I?”

“No,” he said, but perhaps too quickly. Her frown deepened, as if she didn’t believe him. “I mean…if you need to go, you...you can. Not that I want you to, but...if you…want to…”

He grimaced, stopping while he was ahead.

“Prince James.” She cocked her head at him, her tone admonishing. “I want to stay.”

His shoulders dropped in relief. “I am grateful.”

When had he become so awkward? Even as King, he hadn’t been such a dolt. He’d said what he needed to, usually as eloquently as or more than his father. Was it this forced arrangement? Marriage to a barbaric king, a man to whom he had this illogical, undeniable attraction? A man who was hardly here?

Her smile grew faint, as if she could read his mind. “He should be here.”

“He had pressing matters—”

“Pressing matters?” she scoffed. “What could possibly be more important than his young, strapping handsome husband?”

“Poaching.”

“Bah,” she sniffed. “The king knows those poachers can’t sleep whilst in the heart of his dungeon, thinking of their punishment. I’m surprised he didn’t let them be tortured in the waiting. He should choose you and come to see _you_ , Prince James.”

He gave her a weak smile, for what else could he say without revealing his true feelings about the matter? He longed for his arms. Sadly, at this point in time, he could not clarify whether he meant the King’s arms—or the Huntsman’s.

What did that say about him?

Surely, his actions had tainted him. He had not been worthy of the title Prince even before this had happened. How was he to reconcile with his misdeed? It wasn’t difficult to answer for himself. He’d do what his father, the most noble man he’d ever known, would have done had he made the same mistake. Tell Leonard. Face the consequences. It would at least ease some of his guilt, for then he would be punished. Perhaps getting exactly what he deserved.

But then, what if his confession drove away the man he wanted the chance to love?

He was doomed to failure. First, his own father. Then Spock. Would he add Leonard to the list?

The cup shook in his hands.

“My lord, let me take that,” Gaila offered.

The cup quaked, as if his very world had upended. And maybe it had. What he’d done, as wonderful as it had been to kiss the Huntsman, was unforgivable.

Liquid splashed on his fingers like hot coals. The heat was too much for his skin. He dropped the cup like it was on fire, the room spinning around him as he did so.

“My lord!” Gaila exclaimed.

His body would not cooperate, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted it to do. It shook, like leaves fighting the wind to remain on the trees. Flushed, he reached with a trembling hand, and rested the back of it against his forehead, gravity doing most of the work for him.

When had he fallen to the ground?

She appeared above him, a fairy before his eyes and in a constant flurry. “Prince James!”

Had he slumped from his chair? Why had he lost control? Where was he? Why was the ceiling before him?

Her expression turned fearful as she peered down at him. “Can ye hear me, Your Majesty?”

_Your Majesty._

That was him, wasn’t it?

 _Aye_ , he said.

Or thought he’d said.

“Prince James?”

Hadn’t she heard him?

An unexpected groan made its way through his lips. The haunting sound, which he had no control over, warbled through his ears, like the cries of a hundred of the birds that perched outside his bedchamber window.

Her hands touched his face. “My lord! Can ye answer me?”

Were those tears in her eyes?

Nay, had he caused them? His mother had once told him he’d break hearts. He didn't want to do that to this woman.

Or to Leonard.

“Prince James, speak to me!”

Words failed him. He tried to move his arms in an effort to comfort her, instead. He was the cause of her fear, undoubtedly. He attempted to touch her cheek. His arms flailed upwards toward her face of their own accord, rather than cautiously reaching, nearly hitting her.

She lurched back. Away from him.

Mortification stole over him. It was as if he had no ability to restrain himself. Worse, that the same suppressive feeling of paranoia that he’d had earlier had returned. But ten-fold.

He could not stop himself.

He could not stay here.

He needed out.

He wanted to stay.

He had to leave, to find the King. And Spock.

But he was here, stuck.

Why wouldn't the King let him go?

The thoughts consumed him, and he thrashed about. Gaila’s eyes widened as if in horror, he was certain, for he was a madman to her, wasn’t he?

 _Madness_.

It was there in the darkened corners like a ghost, reaching for him, just as she reached for him. But his madness was too strong for her.

Flesh collided with flesh. And what he feared, he was.

Unstoppable.

She cried out.

Shame swept through him.

_I’m sorry._

“Nay, ‘tisn’t your fault,” she said, her voice muffled as the roar in his ears increased. “I think...I think ye be having an epi—”

The world became a torrent, a storm around him without an end. He saw darkness. Flashes of light. Shadows deep, and night dark. Heard screams. His own?

They would not stop.

He heard more.

Then less.

Then more again.

Incessant murmurings above and beside him.

Far away, yet near.

Something wet touched his cheek.

Then a softness...that reminded him of...a cat?

Did he even have a cat?

_Caa—_

_Cat_. Why couldn’t he say it?

_Caa—_

A new hand held him down, one covered. Was it a glove?

“ _My James,”_ a man called to him gently. “ _Marmalade’s fine, as will you be.”_

He struggled with the sound in his throat. Mar...mara?

“ _I promise, James. I’ll take good care of him, your Duke of Marmalade.”_

Who was Marmalade?

More hands held him down, from every direction, before he could form the question. He was confused when the hands pulled him up like he weighed nothing, hauling him straight into a hard chest, and strong arms. They must be strong, for he fought them like a bear.

There was movement. There was stillness. There was weightlessness. He sensed his insanity rising and a new feeling of chaos. He agreed with the past accusations; they swept through his mind like flood waters. The voices in his mind echoed _madness madness madness_ and he could do naught but accept it.

He was just as the crones had suggested.

_Madness madness madness_

There was no hope for him.

He succumbed to it, and time was endless.

Time stopped.

Time?

What was it?

What was a marmalade?

_Madness madness madness_

The murmurs, the only things that were calm, hushed him. Someone strong held him down. Had he yelled out again? Hit them?

No wonder they clung to him, keeping him still.

Would he ever escape this glass house that surrounded him?

_Madness madness madness_

He couldn’t stop thinking about _time_ , but he had no idea what it was. Or what a marmalade was, though the word stuck with him. Or who the man was holding him. Even _Gaila_ was losing its meaning...he thought she was...that it was...

His thoughts were naught.

He was missing.

He was floating.

He was sinking.

Sinking deep, sinking down…

Into what, he knew naught.

Maybe a fathomless and dark, black hole.

A nightmare.

_Madness madness madness_

He lost his voice, for some time the misery would not go past his lips. Nary a groan escaped him, even when something cool pressed against his lips, urging him to sip. He could not move his lips, and soon felt hands guiding his mouth open, like a bird. An injured animal. A child.

_A madman._

“ _There you go, my lord.”_ A cloth touched his tongue, drops of liquid falling onto it. “ _Just a few drops.”_

He stiffened as they tilted his head back, unable to stop himself from crying out. They hushed him, but tenderly.

Who were they? Was he so mad that they had to manipulate him like a puppet? Like a man who could do nothing for himself?

“ _Hold him down. I can’t say for certain this will work, Your Majesty.”_

_“I believe it will. He’s a fighter, my James.”_

He fought them on instinct, but the liquid slid back and down his throat, despite this. It happened over and over and—

His body sank into the mattress beneath him, his limbs loose but heavy. He was aware, at least a small part of him, he thought. He’d be able to describe it later, as a hellish state of mind. The water slipping down his throat was his only respite, once he realized they would not hurt him.

But the calm, familiar voice disappeared when he needed it the most.

All was silent again. All was still.

Too quiet.

_Madness madness madness_

Panic burgeoned within his chest, demanding release.

Maybe he deserved to feel the darkness pressing in on him from all sides, but he couldn’t remember why he felt deserving of the darkness in the first place.

It went on and on, perhaps forever. He knew naught. Just as he felt himself sinking into his madness again, there was a clanging in his mind, like chains dragging across the floor, like a prisoner reluctant to spring free.

Aye, and he was the prisoner.

They bothered him again, opening his mouth, tilting his head back, pouring liquid onto his tongue. But the heaviness soon lifted. He could not speak, even when, with a blink, the madness came to a stop.

He blinked again, the light in the corner fascinating him.

It seemed to dance, and he had seen nothing as beautiful as that for some time.

He watched the moving illumination, mesmerized. A few moments passed before the light ceased being a blur and, instead, became an image he thought he understood. ‘Twas not a dance.

‘Twas a fire.

With quiet, gentle flames.

A sense of comfort washed over him, despite the rasping breaths filling his ears, perhaps even his own. With nothing else to ground him but the erratic crackling flames, he focused on those. For when he did, he would come back to himself.

James searched his mind, however, confused again. How did he know to do this?

“ _He’s awakening,_ ” a low murmur sounded from somewhere within the belly of the room.

“ _Aye, the worst has passed.”_

_“Geoffrey, without you m—”_

_“Say no more, my friend.”_

_“Aye, but I must. He will be well because of you. I owe you my kingdom.”_

The first voice, one of authority, reminded him of his father. The second was gentle, like his mo—

James breathed in as deeply as he could, feeling as if he was waking as a newborn babe, discovering life anew.

_His father._

A sense of clarity struck him. His _father_ had taught him that skill as a child, when he was fraught with this insanity. Aye, George Kirk, King and scholar, had told his young son to take note of his surroundings and latch onto them. That, he’d told James, would bring him back to the living.

It didn't take long. James listened to the rasps, what he soon realized were, indeed, his own feeble breaths.

And that first voice—was the King’s.

“You’re here,” he croaked, finding a haggard-looking figure pacing at the foot of the bed.

The King rushed to his side and knelt on the floor, shocking him with the depth of affection and concern pouring from his eyes, his hair a wild mess about his shoulders. “Aye,” he whispered, clutching his hand. “And so are you, my James.”

James closed his eyes, resting his eyes from the light. ‘Twas a light-hearted comment from a barbarian like Leonard, but he could not even manage a smile. “How long?” he breathed out, noticing the gloves he wore.

“‘Tis afternoon.” Leonard hesitated. “Two days have passed.”

He inwardly groaned. That long?

He wanted the world to swallow him whole.

“‘Tisn’t your fault, my James,” Leonard was saying, pulling him out of his self-pity. “Geoffrey discovered why this has been happening to you. It can be fixed. We’ve fixed...some of it already.”

He opened his eyes. Had he heard him right? This had been going on for too long to be fixed, hadn’t it? “What?”

“The food from your fields has been making you ill. The shock of it in your body, again, after several days without it, caused your condition to worsen.”

“Why?” he said, swallowing with difficulty. “Why...me? Why not my people—”

He broke into a fit of dry coughs.

“Here, Prince James,” Geoffrey said, coming to stand beside him on the other side. “I need you to try and drink this.”

He bent and, with a hand under James’s neck, guided his head up, also pressing the cup to his lips. Though he still sputtered, James drank greedily. He disliked the taste of herbs going down his throat, but when the doctor pulled the refreshment away, it was too soon.

“More?” he whispered.

Geoffrey smiled kindly at him. “Not yet, but soon.”

The doctor helped him sit up by stacking pillows behind him. He sighed, weary but pleased to be back with more life in him than his cursed madness. ‘Twas courage he needed, and truth from the doctor, to face whatever it was that he’d become. “You said...you know why I’ve gone mad?”

“Your premature birth, my lord,” Geoffrey said. “It weakened your body, predisposed you to this condition. But you haven’t gone mad. Not completely.”

He thought he should be happy to hear this, but he had been through far too much to believe him. “Not completely?”

“No, my lord. Your symptoms will subside, some have already.”

“How can you be so sure?” He hated to admit it, but even he had lost hope that he’d ever be cured.

Geoffrey held a book up for him to see. “This is why.”

James furrowed his brow, recognizing the drawings. “These mushrooms. They grow in our fields.”

“Aye.” Geoffrey nodded. “They do. As does the wheat I believe is also poisoning you, your body.”

“Wheat? I ate bread at Kevin’s,” he said, numb. “That Janice had made. The bread was the cause?”

Leonard squeezed his hand. “Aye, and this bread you shall have no more. I have made sure of that.”

He’d made sure of that? He narrowed his eyes on him. “What did you do?”

Leonard lifted his chin, his eyes flickering with his usual stubbornness behind the mask. “Nothing of concern, my James.”

His answer was unsatisfactory, but he saw the hardness in his husband’s eyes and relented. For now. Leonard had done something, but what?

James sank wearily into his pillows. “‘Tis too simple for my madness to be gone...just like that.”

“‘Tisn’t simple,” Leonard countered. “Geoffrey has studied hours, my James, searching—”

“Leonard,” Geoffrey warned.

Leonard scowled. “Someone would have discovered it a long time ago had this been simple, or James’s physicians capab—”

“Leonard!”

Leonard's mouth clamped shut. “Aye.”

James arched a brow, looking between the two men, mainly shocked that his husband was glowering at the doctor. Not only glowering, but obeying him.

It reminded him of his friendship with Spock, a man whose logic and intelligence—and compassion—knew no bounds.

Geoffrey sighed. “Your husband, Prince James, is merely passionate about your welfare.”

“‘Twould seem that we are the barbarians, then,” James said softly, understanding dawning. “To know naught of our own food, or the workings of our bodies, like the civilized people we claim to be.”

The King looked guiltily at him. “I did not intend to infer that _you_ are the barbarians.”

He smiled crookedly. “Aye, but we are. There is no offense taken when ‘tis the truth.”

Leonard grasped his hands with both of his, looking even more earnestly at him. “My James.”

“What troubles you?” James asked, concerned.

“I have something to tell you,” Leonard whispered, his expression filling with pain. “And…’tisn’t pleasant.”

His stomach flipped.

Leonard searched his face. “I will not blame you if you grow angry with me.”

“Angry?” James echoed. Nay. ‘Twould be the other way around. “I don’t understand.”

“You will, once I explain.” Leonard inadvertently squeezed his hand until it hurt.

James sucked in a breath, grimacing. “Aye, ‘tis no secret you are the stronger man in our relationship, but you don’t have to prove it to me.”

Leonard immediately loosened his grip. “I am sorry, my James,” he said, his gaze softening. “Forgive me. I only...I…” He groaned, and ran a hand quickly through his hair. “Egads, I am no good at this.”

“You cannot keep this a secret,” Geoffrey said, staring hard at Leonard. “Nor the other.”

“The other is mine to tell when I so wish!” The King snapped.

Silence filled the room. James, feeling as if he’d been dashed with frigid water, shivered.

Leonard scowled. “Forgive me, my James.” He reached over and grasped the folded blanket at the end of the bed. He unfolded it and pulled it up to his chin as a second cover.

James curled his hands into the softness of the blanket, wanting more than this little comfort. In truth, he wished for the King’s arms around him in a way he’d never had before. “I admit I am confused.” He laughed nervously. “Sorely confused. You’re making me nervous, the both of you.”

His husband abruptly stood, wordless as he stalked across the room, only to stare out the window with his back to them both.

Geoffrey sighed as Leonard’s shoulders dropped. “You must tell him.”

“Aye,” Leonard rasped, but he did not look back.

James could not stop the fear rising in his chest. What did this...aggravation...mean? “What is the matter? Did I offend you?”

Worse, had they discovered his transgression, already?

“Nay, ‘tis my doing, my James.” Leonard turned his head only slightly, but it was enough for James to trace his profile with the mask. “It is...my doing.”

Geoffrey stepped forward and looked James straight in the eye. “What Leonard is trying to say to you, and is too much of a coward—”

Leonard whipped his head around the other way, his eyes set upon the doctor in a heated glare. “Coward?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey answered evenly. “Coward.”

James wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand.”

“He wants to tell you that you were given a treatment,” Geoffrey began slowly.

That was not what he’d expected to hear from him at all. It did not sound...so bad. “Treatment?”

“Aye,” the doctor continued. “A treatment that has not been tested thoroughly, but one that I suggested, nonetheless.”

“That is all?” James asked, confused. “A treatment?”

“I told him of its dire risks, that you could have...” Geoffrey stopped, shaking his head.

“Please,” James urged him. “Continue.”

“It was a treatment with _great_ risks, my lord. I told him I did not agree that it was the only method to purge your body of these poisons. However, as your husband, as your King, and as my King, Leonard was within the law to order me to treat you,” Geoffrey said, mouth set in a grim line. “And he did.”

“Oh,” James said softly. “I understand.”

Leonard turned on his heel. “You are not...dismayed?”

He shrugged. Time would tell. “Did it work?” he asked Geoffrey.

“Aye, although I believe he was a bit hasty to push it.” Geoffrey hesitated. “Still, you are not suffering from additional ill effects, at least as far as I have observed.”

James felt the burden lift from his shoulders. “Then ‘tis a good thing he is so stubborn.”

Leonard glanced at him indignantly. “A good thing—”

Geoffrey’s eyes filled with mirth. “Aye, Prince James. For once, I must agree that his penchant for doing things his way—worked.”

“And now?” James asked.

“I advise you to ease into your regular routine, take it easy for a few days,” Geoffrey said. “Nothing strenuous.”

“I cannot lie about,” he protested.

“Aye, but you can,” Leonard interrupted. “Marmalade has missed you, my husband.”

“Marmalade?” ‘Twas an odd name for a person.

“Your kitten,” Leonard said.

“I have a kitten?” He stared at Leonard, confused. “When did I acquire a pet?”

Leonard held his breath, and met Geoffrey’s gaze. James could not determine the meaning of the look that passed between them. Nor could he understand why Leonard’s face shuttered.

“Aye, you have a kitten, given to you before you succumbed to another episode,” Geoffrey said, bending down beside the bed. James tried to see what he was doing, catch a glimpse of this kitten he could now hear mewling faintly in the room, but his vision was blocked and he was too tired to move. It mattered naught. The doctor swept the kitten in his arms, a small ball of orange and white, and brought it to him. “May I present the Duke of Marmalade, my lord.”

Amused by the name, James gladly accepted the creature into his arms. The kitten hid his face in the crook of his elbow. “A Duke?”

Geoffrey's eyes twinkled. “Aye. You named him, my lord.”

“Well.” The kitten mewed and, after James set it on his lap, pounced. He smiled down at it, smitten. “A strong name is good luck. Duke of Marmalade, I am pleased to meet you.”

“He will be good company.” The doctor’s laughter reminded him that Leonard watched solemnly from the other side. “Gaila will be pleased to hear that you are awake, Prince James, for she was worried Marmalade would never eat again. They sense these things, you know.”

James ran a tentative finger over the fur. The kitten was familiar to him, but he could not remember, not fully. “My condition did this, didn’t it? Made me forget him?”

If only he’d forgotten the Huntsman’s kiss.

Geoffrey bowed his head. “Aye, Prince James. I believe the strain of the episode and the treatment was simply too much. It is not uncommon to experience temporary amnesia.”

“Temporary? This memory will return?” Leonard asked.

“Perhaps, in time.” Geoffrey said. “But you will find other things may be...amiss.”

Leonard’s eyes darkened. “‘Tis unaccept—”

“‘Tis fine,” James interrupted, feeling as if he was resolving a conflict in his own Kingdom instead of a dispute between the doctor and his own husband. “Leonard will accept it, and I will be able to leave this behind me. We both will.”

Geoffrey looked pointedly at Leonard. “What did I tell you? You will begin seeing a slightly different James than you are used to.”

Leonard grunted. “You did not tell me enough.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “You are never pleased.”

With effort, James curled on his side while they bantered, tugging Marmalade closer to him. He was discouraged by the fact that he had failed to remember this little scamp. Yet, there was something comforting in receiving this gift after his troubling episode, and the treatment.

“I will leave the two of you alone for now,” Geoffrey murmured.

“Aye, that’s best,” Leonard said flatly.

James rolled his eyes at that. “You will return?” he asked Geoffrey.

He hoped the doctor would be back soon, for no other reason than to lessen the tension that was coming off Leonard in waves.

“I will return, but the two of you...need time,” Geoffrey said, preparing to leave. “Prince James, keep him in line.”

James found himself smirking. “I will.”

Leonard softly sighed when the door closed, leaving them alone. “Finally,” he muttered, locking it.

James waited until Leonard had made his way to the bed before looking up at him. “There is room for you here.”

The King looked down at him with an odd expression on his face. “You need space.”

“I have no use for it.” He’d show the King his loyalty, and prove to himself that this was best for all. The Huntsman would no longer be able to use the lack of intimacy that he had with the King against him. And his guilt would plague him no more.

“You’ve been ill, my James.”

“You will find that I am not as fragile as you think me to be. Besides, I need you,” he said simply. “Completely.”

Leonard still did not move forward. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

His heart beat wildly in his ears, but he there was nothing that he knew with more certainty. He was meant to be with the King. With Leonard. With the man to whom he was lawfully wed. “Aye. I know.”

“I cannot remove this mask, not if you're not ready, my James. I fear you would hate what you’d see more than ever.”

“Nay, I would not hate you. This time apart has not only shown me that I am not afraid of what’s underneath your mask, but that I can wait until you are ready to reveal yourself to me.”

Leonard blinked at him. “Until _I_ am ready?”

“You deny that is why you wear the mask?” James hedged.

Leonard stood still, his expression unreadable.

“Your silence answers the question,” James said. “But I will ask it again. Do you wear the mask to protect your Kingdom—or yourself?”

Leonard sucked in a breath, the strange look in his eyes returning. “I understand now, why you’ve ruled so well.”

“Flattery will not stop me from demanding answers.”

Leonard swallowed. “I can see that.”

“Do you deny it? That you wear the mask for yourself? Have kept it affixed to your face all these years for your own sake?”

“Nay,” Leonard admitted. “I cannot deny it.”

“Why?”

The King shook his head. “Nay, my James. Do not ask me why I wear it. I will carry that secret to my grave.”

“One day I will get it out of you,” James vowed.

“If I relent, you will no longer press me?” Leonard pleaded.

“Be with me tonight, if not for the sake of the law, then for the sake of my heart. I naught can think of a better way to improve my health than to give myself to you—as is the law and my deepest wish.” He took a deep breath. “And, I will no longer press you about the mask. At least for a short time.”

“You are quite convincing.” Leonard sank onto the bed.

James felt a flash of victory as Leonard pulled off his boots. “So I’ve been told.”

Leonard tossed his boots aside, climbed on the bed—and over him. Before he could move Marmalade, the King’s lips were upon him, gentle and seeking. His body was flush with his—and, oh, how James wanted their bodies touching, unhampered, by masks.

Yet, he'd promised, and so would he keep his promise to Leonard.

Where the Huntsman’s was the most passionate kiss he’d ever received, the King’s was the most tender, despite the cool mask rubbing his face. There was satisfaction in both, but the sweetness of the King’s took his breath away.

He sank into it, wanting it to erase all memory of the Huntsman, only vaguely aware that the King had moved his sleeping kitten to the side on one of the pillows.

“I wish to see you, my James,” Leonard breathed, pausing briefly before pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck.

His hand found its way around James’s member, which was free of trousers, unlike Leonard’s.

James hissed a breath, Leonard’s hand moving up and down, excruciatingly slow, the glove on his hand making the act more sensual than he’d ever experienced. “You have me at an unfair advantage, Your Majesty,” he rasped.

He had underestimated both his desire for him and his growing pleasure. He was hard, already.

Leonard's hand engulfed his shaft. “I do not hear you complaining,” he said, dragging his lips across his neck and up towards his ear. He nibbled at it, eliciting a groan from James.

“You tease me,” James protested.

“Aye.”

His shaft filled out more as Leonard cradled it in his hands, but then Leonard squeezed.

James groaned and stilled, suddenly, but only for a few seconds. He burgeoned with need for more. “Please.”

Leonard lifted his head and stared down at him, eyes smoldering as much as they were piercing. “Not yet, my James.”

He took James’s hands and placed them above his head. Then, his own head bent, Leonard proceeded to unlace the ties at James’s throat with one hand. Leonard’s mouth continued to consume his as he loosened James’s shirt, proving that he was masterful at both controlling him and manipulating the objects between them at the same time.

Sensing that Leonard was an adept lover, perhaps more than he had imagined or was prepared for, he tried to free himself and regain his control. But he could move his hands naught. Leonard’s grip on them was strong and firm, anything but relenting. He tried, anyway, if only to try and guide his husband’s head, his mouth, where he most desired it.

“Patience,” Leonard growled, not allowing him to budge an inch.

“‘Twas never my strong suit,” James opposed raggedly, moistening his lips with his tongue.

Leonard hummed in his throat, watching him do it again. “We will do nicely together, I see. As I suspected.”

“This...is torture,” he protested, his reservations gone as he began to submit to his husband’s hands.

“Aye, my James,” Leonard whispered, kissing him hungrily along his jaw. “And all the more enticing to me, to see you this way.”

He saw he could not hurry him, and grew breathless with anticipation as the King stroked and kissed him at his whim, always keeping him on the verge. Soon, but not soon enough, Leonard pulled the shirt over James’s head, and began again, eyes afire as he drank in the sight of his bare chest. “You are exquisite,” Leonard breathed, tossing the shirt aside.

“Nay,” he whispered. The sight before him was the most beautiful, as his passionate and savage King, even though still wearing his mask, was unveiled to him little by little.

One day, he would find the words that would convince Leonard to cast the mask aside, allow him to see him completely, for who he was underneath. But first, he could take the small step of discovering his face with Leonard knowing naught of his efforts. He would discover him, and keep his silence, reveling in the knowledge that Leonard, whoever it was beneath the obscurity of the mask, was his.

“James.” Leonard’s eyes glittered, like diamonds etched in dark stone. “Who are you to argue with the King?”

His heart flipped when he heard the teasing in his voice. “His husband,” he protested huskily, for Leonard seemed to sense this banter was welcome and he was correct. He enjoyed this interplay between them. His hands held firmly above his head, he watched Leonard through heavily-lidded eyes. A look passed between them, and desire pooled like liquid in his belly. Far more than what he’d felt for the Huntsman, or so he told himself.

“Aye,” Leonard rasped, his lips closing in on him once more. He tasted him, moaning as if in delight, James’s own sounds of pleasure joining his in chorus. “And though I shall be gentle with you, my James, you shall know that I am yours.”

With that, he was lost in the King’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Two in one week(ish)! I wanted to get that one written 1, before the holidays and 2, for my birthday today, because I've kept Leonard and James apart for too long now. Mission accomplished! Except, this might be the calm before the storm. More on Cake and Spock next chapter. 
> 
> Diamondblue4, thanks so much, my friend, for helping me with this chapter! I can't say how much I've appreciated your edits and comments! 
> 
> Please, review? I'd love to hear your thoughts about the story! :)


	10. Deception

Waking up to a deeply sated James in his arms was everything Leonard had imagined it to be—a dream.

Waking up with a fluffy tail on his face was not.

He cursed and batted the insufferable appendage away. It swung again, hitting him straight in the mouth. When his efforts failed to remove the unwanted third party from his bed, he clutched the wriggling kitten and tossed it down towards his feet. The kitten—he would not call it Marmalade now that he’d been so intimate with the creature, or was it that the creature had been intimate with him?—mewed in the air like a ferocious lion and landed, nimbly feet first.

He muttered aloud the tale he would regale James with; how it had hissed and plotted vengeance while gnashing its teeth. It had plotted against him to gain James’s attention ignoring Leonard’s fragile kingly desires.

He turned his head back to his blessedly sleeping mate, only to find the purest, bluest eyes regarding him with amusement.

“Fragile kingly desires?” James said teasingly.

Egads, if not for his mask, his blush would be seen by all. “Did you see what your rascal did?” he complained before James could say a word.

“You removed him before I could!” Jim exclaimed, laughing.

“James, that creature cannot sleep on our bed,” he growled.

“You don’t mean that.” James sat up slowly and leaned forward to gather the wretched animal in his arms. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He was just lonely.”

Leonard sighed, resigned. He could no more rid himself of that kitten than he could rid himself of James. Besides, it did provide him with the perfect view of James’s backside.

He swept his hand across James’s bare skin, lingering at the small of his back. He would trace constellations on his skin forevermore, if his cousin would take care of the kingdom and allow him to revel in his greatest achievement—marrying this beautiful prince. “James.”

“I think he’s also hungry,” James said, laughing again as the kitten gnawed at the hem of the coverlet. “I should get up and feed him. I’d like to check up on Gaila. She was worried about me yesterday, wasn’t she?”

Curse the kitten and James’s penchant for caring too much. He wanted him all to himself. As King, he demanded it.

“Aye, she was worried,” he admitted. “But ye turned every other head in my kingdom, besides her.”

James frowned, marring his happy expression, something Leonard did not care to see. “‘Tisn’t true.”

“It is, my James,” Leonard complained, mock-seriously. “‘Tis also true that your kitten wasn’t hungry. Clearly, it was attacking my face!”

James turned to watch Leonard with a smirk. “Your mask does look delicious, Your Majesty.”

“You shall not partake of it,” he retorted.

“Aye, my lord,” James averted his gaze.

Leonard sat up and slipped his arms around his waist, placing his chin on James’s shoulder. “I am not displeased with you, my James.”

“I promised I would not mention—”

“Hush.” Leonard pressed a kiss upon his skin. “I will not hear of any excuses, for they are not necessary.”

“Aye.”

Leonard tipped James’s chin with a finger, gently guiding his face back. James lifted his eyes, revealing a renewed vulnerability. His heart skipped a beat. “You are exquisite, even in the morning.”

“And you are grumpy.” James sighed and brought Marmalade up to his cheek, as if reveling in its softness.

“The creature is a menace.” Leonard relaxed back onto his pillow, seeing that James’s mind was not on him—but the small creature, instead. “See how he bites.”

Indeed, it was now gnawing at one of James’s knuckles. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“A menace,” he argued. “Is he not?”

James paused. “How did I get him, my lord?”

“You still do not remember?”

James shook his head. “Nay. ‘Tis a memory that is as murky as a storm cloud.”

“Are you angry with me, my love?”

James sucked in a breath. In truth, his response was an answer in itself. “No,” he whispered, setting down the kitten by his feet. He turned to lie on his stomach, so his head was pressed up against Leonard’s heart and his gaze was locked on him. “I am completely enraptured by you.”

“You jest.” He could not let himself believe it. Even James, as good and true as he was, could not be this taken by him, a man who could not reveal himself entirely to him.

_He could not let himself believe it._

James’s brow twitched, briefly, in a frown. “I do not. I’d hoped last night—”

“Aye, it was wonderful,” he said flatly.

“You are trying too hard to be contrary.”

He rolled his eyes. “I cannot alter my nature.”

“No, you’re right.” James looked up at him with a beguiling smile. “Yet, I cannot help but wonder how I may convince you of the passion I hold for you.”

“One of my huntsman,” he said bluntly. “One of them gave your pest to you.”

The brilliance in James’s eyes faded into a boorish, flat light. “What?” he said tightly.

“My best huntsman gave you the creature. Horatio is his name.”

“Hora—”

“A fine name,” he said.

James blinked and swallowed. “And you know this, how?”

“I know everything, my James,” he said softly.

James pulled away from him to lie on his back, putting distance between them. “And you tell me this for what reason, my lord?”

Indeed, why had he told his mate? Was it to test him? See how much love poured from his eyes, unmasked?

“Thought you’d wish to extend him your gratitude,” he murmured.

“No,” James said sullenly.

“That is not like you.”

James stiffened, and turned on his side.

Leonard felt the rebuff like the clean cut of a sword. ‘Twas his own doing, trying to provoke him just to see his reaction.

Aye, Geoffrey was right. He was a cruel man, down to his very bones. His cruelty did not end with his enemies, or with those he’d conquered after ransacking their villages, but continued with everyone around him.

He was cruel—and James did not know the half of it.

“Will you come back to me?” he hedged, placing his hand on the bed in the space between them, lest the wedge become a chasm.

“Do not speak of that... _Huntsman_ ,” James hissed.

Guilt swirled in his gut like too much strong ale. “He vexes you?”

“He is...I...He….” James inhaled a strangled breath. “I do not like him.”

“He must have wronged you, for you to hate him so.”

James closed his eyes. “Hate is a strong word, my lord. Forgive me.”

Leonard leaned over and brushed his lips over his cheek, silencing him. “Speak no more of it. A gift is a gift, and I will tell him thank you on your behalf.”

James said nothing.

He sighed, burrowing his head into his shoulder. “We have other things to do today, my James, than to fight.”

James sighed. “I do not like fighting.”

“I shall make it up to you,” he rasped. He caressed James’s hip under the covers, relishing the bare, warm skin he was to claim.

Victory surged through him when James turned his head towards him, his expression vulnerable once more.

“I feel weak,” James said, blinking.

“Aye.” The atmosphere in the room shifted at the reminder of what James had been enduring, all this time. Illness. Sickness. Madness. “‘T’will pass.”

“When?”

“In a day or so,” he said roughly. Too long, if he were to tell the truth. “You must drink Geoffrey’s concoction today, to clean your system, he said.”

“I cannot lie about in bed all da—” James inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping to the wall when a muffled sound came from behind it.

Leonard swallowed back a groan. ‘Twas his cousin, who knew better than to disturb him now.

“What was that?” James exclaimed, shooting up.

James swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet on the floor. It was too much, too fast. His body collapsed, but not before Leonard caught him.

“Do not get up again,” he ordered, looking down at the prince.

James’s head lolled, chin to his chest. He moaned. “What...was that?”

He set him on the bed with great care, pulling the cover over him and up to his chin. “What was what?”

“Noise,” James said, breathlessly. His eyes flickered with confusion as he stared at him. “Did you not hear it?”

“Nay,” he lied. He’d heard it, as plain as day. “I heard nothing.”

Would Geoffrey see him now, he would denounce him. Would _anyone_ see deep into his heart, the shadows hidden within, they would cast him upon the rubble of the very walls that he destroyed to gain fame and fortune.

Lying to his beloved forced him to retreat deep into silence. Now he’d never be free of these cursed chains, a prison of his own doing that had started long ago.

“Nothing?” James suddenly looked small. “I’ve...my-my mind is still not stable, Your Majesty. What is this new affliction? I see...things moving. Things black and fleeting.”

“‘Tis a side effect,” he said, stretching the truth. Geoffrey had told him James might see things in the corner of his eyes, be plagued with these fleeting images while the cure purged his system. Why could he not hear sounds, too? “That is all.”

James pressed a hand to his forehead. “My eyes and ears are cursed because of my folly. The crones were right.”

Leonard scowled, guilt growing. But if he told him the truth, what more torment would befall James? Forsooth, he could not say a word. “Do not think of the crones, my James, and the lies they fed you. You did nothing wrong.”

“Aye,” James whispered, “but misfortune keeps close company to me and you do not know it. ‘Tis a new folly. I am cursed, Your Majesty.”

“You are not cursed,” he countered, adamant that James know part of the truth at the very least. “You see things that are not there, but it is not your fault, my James,” he continued, tenderly, his words burgeoning with regret. “Geoffrey will come soon and tell you. I will make sure of it.”

“Do not leave me,” James said, his hand enclosing around Leonard’s.

“I will find him now. There are...matters at hand, perhaps, that demand his attention.”

Another thump echoed harshly in his ears, reminding him of the new lie he was threading into this web of deceit.

James startled, squeezing his hand until he felt his bones being crushed.

Aye, and he deserved to feel it.

“But—” James begun

“Sleep,” he interrupted, pressing a kiss to his lips. He would first see to his cousin and stop the racket that was upsetting his James. It was the very least he could do. “I will return.”

James fell asleep not a moment later. As taxed as he appeared to be from his treatment and their lovemaking, Leonard was not surprised. He untangled his fingers from his lover’s hand and stood by the window, the despair he’d felt upon his father's death returning, threading its fingers into his heart.

For what direction would he take now?

He was a menace to James, to them all, and he knew naught how to stop it.

When he was certain James would not open his eyes at the slightest noise, he slipped out of sight and through the hidden door in the wall.

 

oOo

 

Leonard had been gone too long, hours by the look of the fire’s logs, but at least the noise in the wall had ceased. Miserable, he'd held his hands against his ears until the sounds had passed, and long thereafter, until Geoffrey had crashed through the locked door. He’d lowered shaking limbs, staring at the doctor in misery. Was this his lot in life...still?

Geoffrey had negated his fears, telling him, with a firm voice, that the insanity he’d previously experienced would no longer interfere with his life. He’d also assured him that that he would feel stronger every day, despite the lingering effects of the treatment.

James approached his physician with as much confidence he could muster. Flickers of black tainted the edges of his vision like demons, as Geoffrey had warned. His heart pattered inconsistently. His mind could not fathom the king’s extended absence, not when he’d promised to return.

He breathed deeply to calm himself, several times over. His panic was unnecessary and foolish; naive and self-centered. “You have not seen him?” he asked Geoffrey.

Geoffrey replaced the oil in his bag and shook his head. “My lord, as I said before, he never came to me as you said he would. I visited you of my own accord.”

James gazed out the window, seeing nothing but blue skies and empty hills. There were no huntsmen milling about, their swords in place. The villagers, too, were few in number along the cobbled roads and in the fields.

Something was out of place but he could not put a finger on it.

“Gaila?” he murmured, twisting around to find the young maidservant.

She exchanged a curious look with Geoffrey before casting another log into the fire, which it did not need. Indeed, his room was so hot, his skin burned. ‘T’was necessary, Geoffrey had insisted.

He removed his shirt, leaving his perspiring chest bare for them to see. He cared naught of its indecency and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked her.

“My lord, he is hiding, he is,” she murmured, wiping her hands on her skirt. “I would warn him, but ‘tisn’t my place.”

“Warn him of what?” James leaned against the windowsill, now searching Geoffrey’s face for an answer to appease him.

“He deceives himself,” Geoffrey muttered, giving his bag a harsh tug.

“Do you mean his mask?” James turned back to the window. He reached to open it but was stopped by Geoffrey’s sharp command.

“Do not, my lord,” Geoffrey barked.

James dropped his arm. “It’s hot,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot...stay…”

“Gaila,” Geoffrey said, nodding his head towards him.

Gaila picked up her skirts and hurried over to his side. “Come to bed,” she whispered.

“I do not need a pillow. I need to know why he hasn’t returned.”

But he allowed her to lead him to the bed, despite the war raging within him. He had a gut feeling that something was amiss. Wrong. Dangerous. That it involved his husband, the very King who had acted so curiously when they’d awakened this morn.

Then on his back, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to connect imaginary dots that he saw from the corners of his eyes.

“May I give him a cool cloth?” Gaila asked Geoffrey. “Something to ease his discomfort?”

“Nay,” Geoffrey said, with an abrupt shake of his head. “It must pass on its own.”

“I’ll take it like a warrior.” James feebly supplied a smile.

“You do not have to be so brave,” Gaila whispered, her hand cool on his forehead.

He saw more than concern behind her eyes. Did she, too, suspect something amiss?

“Where is he?” he demanded.

Geoffrey appeared above him, his brow deeply furrowed. “She does not know, and I cannot say, my lord. I...I am sorry.”

“Leave me,” he ordered, closing his eyes in irritation. He remembered the wall, the sound, and Leonard’s hesitation. “Wait.”

“Aye, my lord?”

He opened his eyes and narrowed his gaze on the man. “Will I hear sounds that aren't there?”

Geoffrey hesitated. “My lord?”

“Will I hear sounds that aren’t there?” he repeated.

“Nay, I have never heard of such a thing.”

James stilled. Forsooth, was that the King’s own deception?

“I’m tired,” he complained, supplying them with a white lie. “I will sleep now.”

“‘T’would be best,” Geofrey murmured. “Come, Gaila.”

He slept fitfully after they left, until he felt stronger of mind. When it seemed that he would only be tossing and turning, he rose from the bed, donned a clean shirt, and padded to the door in his barefeet. He locked it and positioned a chair under the door handle as an extra measure.

He leaned his ear against the wall and tapped his hand along the panels—until he found it.

It gave in, easily, and he was drawn by the flickering light within the hidden compartment, that teased him with the sight of a descending staircase and the promise of an exit.

A mew came from beside him. He sighed and looked down at his kitten. “Marmalade, you cannot go with me.”

He picked him up and set him on the bed. “Stay,” he ordered gently.

The kitten gazed at him petulantly and scampered forward.

“Nay,” he said, pointing a finger at it, as if it were a dog that could understand.

The kitten plopped down, suddenly content with a fraying edge of the blanket.

“Marmalade, stay.”

When the kitten seemed to be no longer paying attention to him he headed back towards the wall.

Once inside, its cool air enticed him more. He glanced back at the grandeur and mystery of his room. Was this a step towards enlightenment? A bridge he was crossing, with no turning back?

Whatever it was, he could not ignore the fact that his husband had deceived him. If he’d deceived him about something so seemingly insignificant, what else was he lying to him about?

It did not stop with a mask.

Did he think James an utter fool?

Anger welled in his chest. He braced himself against the rough stones that were packed to form the far wall, and descended the stairs, guided by the dim light and his instincts. Until he rounded the bend, he would not find his answers. It was suddenly pitch black before him.

One thing he knew for certain. He would not allow his anger to cloud his judgment.

He’d seen enough, knew enough about the king, the unknown pain in his eyes, to understand that anger and guilt were clouding _his_ —the very man he'd married.

 

oOo

 

Leonard stormed through the doors of the Huntsmen’s Hall like a wolf charging into the woods for its prey. His men tipped over chairs as they stood and stared at him as if he were a ghost.

Aye, and a ghost he would gladly be if it would bring his men and Spock back to life. He could imagine just how he looked, wild and crazed. Hunted and hunter. Nay, he could not return to James in such a state, with every fiber of his being on edge. The ride into the mountains and back had been intense and dangerous, thanks to Nero’s men, who were prowling his country after following his injured men back to Leonard’s kingdom.

“What are your orders?” Maurin called out from behind him.

He growled and threw his sword down in his frustration. It clattered on the ground. “Worthless,” he snarled at it, feeling the pain in his side where he'd been sliced through.

Aye, that man had paid with his life for that slice. He’d run him through, but Leonard’s own sword had been dull. He could still hear the man’s screams.

None of his might, nor weaponry, could fix this for his husband.

Not even his savagery.

Several more of his men glanced up from their meal at the table, where they were scrabbling to eat, no doubt before they heard the orders from his mouth that they were being sent off to face their greatest enemy.

“Your Majesty?” his cousin asked again.

He ground his boots in the floor and swiveled to face him. The sun was going down. It was almost past the evening meal. Aye, his mouth watered and his thirst badgered him as much as his stomach did. But he would not stop, could not stop, or allow himself the luxury of heeding his body’s signals. Not when James’s most treasured friend was lost.

Maurin did not give up in his silence. “Fresh horses are ready, so are our men.”

“It is worthless,” he whispered, in agony. If only time would stand still. He could not face James with this news, but he yearned for his gentle touch, a tender word from his husband. “Look out, Maurin, and tell me see what you see.”

A pale moon, its thin fingers of light reaching the earth. ‘'Twas not enough to journey on with all in sight.

“We have ridden in darkness before,” Maurin said, now encroaching on his personal space, and forcing him to look up into his eyes. “‘'Tis what we do, as Huntsmen. Cousin, you are not in your right mind, to forget that our horses know the way.”

The statement angered him, yet ‘twas true.

“I need James,” he breathed for his cousin’s ears alone.

Someone to set him on the proper course, not one of vengeance.

His James had needed him this morn, but it was then that Maurin had brought him urgent news, trying to get his attention through the wall to speak in secret.

After finding Maurin, he’d learned that one of his scouts had seen riders beyond the mountain, carrying their flag. It had meant only one thing. _Danger_.

Too stubborn to allow his men to ride out on their own, when it had been his idea to find this Spock, Leonard had taken it upon himself to ride and meet them himself. Ten other huntsmen had accompanied him.

The riders were his, men he’d sent to find James’s steward, Spock. But only two had returned alive, their horses worn, their faces lined with blood and grief. They’d tended to their own wounds, claiming it wasn't necessary to call for Geoffrey.

 _Geoffrey_.

He groaned. “Forsooth.”

He’d forgotten to tell Geoffrey to see to James in his stead. To examine him as he resting, waiting for the symptoms and side effects to fade. The doctor had been busy treating the villagers, including the ones in his dungeon, who’d refused to eat their rations.

And who had started the rebellion?

A quiet, giant of a man, who’d decided to become a martyr on behalf of James’s people. Leonard did not trust him. That this man was also behind bars did little to appease him, however. It seemed he was doing all he could to create an uprising in the dungeon. Perhaps it would be best to let him go free, despite his misgivings.

“What have you decided, Cousin?” Maurin asked, his eyes scanning the men watching them.

Leonard looked at them with pride. They’d finished eating, were gathering what they needed to fight Nero’s men, who’d dared to camp so near to his Kingdom.

Maurin crossed his arms. “There is no time to spare.”

Leonard dropped his hands. What did he think he was? A bloody idiot? “They’ve seen my James’s Spock?” he asked, though he’d heard it from his men’s lips already.

“Aye,” Maurin affirmed with a nod. “With a woman they did not recognize, who was blindfolded and her hands bound behind her.”

“ _Nero_ has seen this Spock?” he whispered painfully.

James could not hear this news. He feared his beloved, in his weakened state, would, once and for all, succumb to the guilt that it was his fault for ordering Spock to depart to seek help.

Maurin’s eyes hardened. “They assume Nero at least knows his men captured him, Your Majesty. Spock is their prisoner, perhaps dead. He was seen outside their camp on the ground, lifeless, beside the woman.”

Leonard straightened his back with a crack. He would do anything for James. Even this. A rescue, despite the raw facts.

Nero did not take prisoners. He killed them.

But he did take something else.

“You must see to your injury, Cousin,” Maurin muttered.

“Aye.” He swallowed back a cry when he examined his own wound.

“I will find Geof—”

“Nay, you will not!” he boomed. Geoffrey could not know. He would try to stop him, if he knew his plans.

Maurin stepped back, his eyes wary.

“I apologize, Cousin,” Leonard said, sighing heavily.

“No harm done.”

He grunted. “I cannot trouble Geoffrey with this. Like you said, we have no time to spare.” He tore the fabric of his tunic and began wrap it around his torso, to staunch the bleeding.

But his hands trembled.

“As you wish.” Maurin scowled and took the fabric from him to finish the job, instead. “Your Majesty.”

“I have no choice,” he argued through clenched teeth, when Maurin pulled the bandage tight. “The time is now. We must ride.”

 

oOo

 

James stumbled out of the secret stairway and into the evening air, breathless. He knew this place, even before he looked around. He tilted his head back and stared up at the window above him.

That was his window. The Huntsman had stood here. Stood here and gazed up at him with that arrogant smirk of his. His husband, the king, had also stood here.

His skin prickled.

Why did the stairs lead to this place? Directly into the courtyard where the king’s huntsmen practiced? What reason did Leonard have for using it? And who had been making the noise?

He rubbed the back of his neck and walked in a circle, in shock. It seemed reasonable to believe that Leonard used this passageway periodically, perhaps making unannounced visits to see his men. Or a getaway.

With horror, he had another thought. Had anyone else used it other than Leonard? Had anyone... _heard_ them in their bed last night?

His anger nearly getting the best of him, he decided he could not try to find Leonard, after all. He needed space.

The walk was long, and his eyes easily deceived, especially in the dark, but he walked on determinedly and made it to Kevin’s house as the torches were being lit along the road. He knocked.

He knocked again.

“They’re gone.”

At the sound of the familiar, gravely voice, James spun around. He peered through the night to see two eyes reflecting the amber light of the fire above him. “Archer?”

“Aye, my lord.” The older man shuffled forward, leaning on his cane.

James was shocked to see him, his age and arthritis having kept him from walking about for months.

“You are here about Janice, I suppose?” Archer asked.

He frowned. “Janice?”

“She was one of the first to be taken,” Archer said, tapping his cane once. He lifted his chin, jerking his head towards Kevin’s front door. “Kevin put up a fight, too, but he relinquished the bread, just like they’d demanded. He goes to the dungeon as a free man, to keep her company.”

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “What are you talking about?”

Archer seemed to straighten, his back losing the slight hump that had appeared over the past few years. “You know naught of the bread, Prince James?”

“The bread. You speak of the bread that makes me sick?”

“Aye.” Archer nodded. “They took it, days ago, and every last crumb of food from your kingdom. Plants and grains. Mushrooms. Even our tea. Those who did not give it up of their own accord were put into the king’s dungeon, where they will remain for more than a fortnight.”

He startled, certain he had not heard him right. “The King’s dungeon? They took her there?” he asked urgently. “His dungeon is for criminals. ‘Tisn’t a place for a woman like Janice, or any of my people! How could this be true?”

Archer was silent, but his eyes filled with tears.

He walked forward and took the man by the arm. “Answer me!” he demanded, filled with fear.

His husband had, at long last, become what he was notorious for being—a hideous beast. And it'd happened right under his—James’s—nose.

The older man looked at him sadly. “‘Tis true. You can ask the others, who are hiding in their houses from the King’s men. They took Janice, and others, my lord…”

“Who else?” he asked, horrified.

The man’s face fell. “My son was one of them,” he whispered. “They took my son, Prince James. They imprisoned Cake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! A few things were answered, and a few more questions popped up. The action is rising. ;) Please, review?
> 
> Thank you, Diamondblu4, for betaing!
> 
> I'll try not to let ya'll hang for too long... I know cliffhangers are terrible! XX


	11. Revulsion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter up—it was getting way too long for my liking. There is a warning for this update, but more on that in the end notes so I don’t spoil it here. Look there if concerned. Not a huge warning, I guess, but something I wanted to caution about. I know my soft heart would be taken by surprise if I was not the author but the reader.
> 
> Diamondblue4, thank you so much, dear friend, for the beta! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read!

 

His people. Imprisoned? Over bread? And all on behalf of his safety?

James could not believe it.

Whether it had been just one of his villeins banished to the darkness and dampness of a cell, or a hundred, didn't matter. Leonard had shown no mercy. He had only thought of himself. His barbaric ways. Showing them off like a banner to his enemies. It was accrued act—no different than if he’d cut off James’s head and held _that_ up for all to see.

James could no longer condone Leonard’s actions, not that he'd ever agreed with Leonard’s savagery in the first place. Neither could he believe he was doing this to save anyone under his protection. Like with the mask, it was only to protect Leonard and only Leonard.

His people had endured enough. Leonard had gone too far.

James could not allow this to continue.

“Thank you, Jonathan.” James would treat this man—and his son—with the utmost respect because his father would have done the same.

“Don’t thank me,” Archer said, looking down. “I would not have left my home had it not become unbearable to live without my son.”

“You spoke the truth.” He shook his head. “If I had not heard it, I would not be able to free them.”

Archer breathed in sharply, his eyes glinting sharply like those of a much younger man. “You believe you can free them?”

“Of course he can free them.”

Archer, surprisingly, turned around before he could. Anna sat atop a horse, looking down at them both.

“Anna,” James exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “Coming h-home, Your Majesty.”

“You were visiting Janice?” James deduced.

She nodded, her hands trembling as she held the reins.

“You should not,” he chided her, his mind racing, wondering why she appeared so frightened. “‘Tis an awful place. You are far too young to visit there.”

Archer grunted. “Young lady, I agree with Prince James. You should not be out alone on a night like this, during troubled times.” He stumbled forward with his cane. He misstepped, but caught the loose rein of the horse before he fell. “Allow me to assist you. I may be old but I—”

“Nay!” she exclaimed, vigorously shaking her head. “I must g-go back!”

“Anna,” James began in a gentle tone. She’d appeared of sharp mind earlier, a young woman with a calm air about her. What was this agitated response? “What else is the matter?”

She shivered. “You did not hear them? Their ghoulish calls and clanging swords?”

“Hear who?” But he knew. Dreadfully, he knew.

“Oh, m-my l-lord,” she said, breathless, as she stuttered into speech. She gasped. “The King’s men!”

“The Huntsmen?”

“They are leaving! All - or some, I do not know!” she cried, tears streaking her face.

He stepped back at once. “That can’t be true. Certainly not all of them.”

She slipped off the horse, stumbling on the hem of her dress. Hurrying to face him, she bowed her head. “‘I saw the King, Prince James. He was riding off, one of the first.”

“Why?” Jim asked, confused. “Why would he leave in such a hurry?”

She shook her head. “I do not know, but I h-heard rumors. Rumors explaining why he left yesterday morn.”

“What rumors, Anna?” When she hesitated, he insisted. “I demand to know.”

“Nero’s m-men,” she exclaimed, eyes widened in fright. “I heard a huntsman tell of Nero’s men nearby, my lord.”

He closed his eyes, briefly, not even trying to disguise his pain. Nay, this could not be happening. Leonard had not told him of the danger before leaving so abruptly. Curse his madness. Was he this weak in body and spirit, that his husband could not even speak to him of this? “Are you sure it was the king who rode out? Did you see him for yourself?”

She trembled. “Aye, it was a man in a mask.”

He inhaled sharply.

_A man in a mask._

_A man._

Leonard—or someone else?

His decision came like a lightning storm. He reacted to it immediately, thinking of little else but the path he must take at all costs. “I must leave at once,” he clipped.

And not for the dungeons, as he’d planned. That would have to wait, as much as he hated it to be so. If Leonard was facing Nero, would he ever see him again?

Would he ever see the Huntsman—Horatio—again?

_Nay, that name be cursed, and yet on his lips!_

He feared Leonard had been chasing his demons for far too long, and now he was lost in a sea of lies. Many of which he had yet to learn for himself about the king.

Leonard had been chasing his demons so long that it wasn’t him—James—who wasn’t in his right mind—but Leonard.

“I am sorry, Jonathan. I cannot see about your son now, as much as I'd liked to,” he said to Archer. “Not yet.”

He did not know what he expected from the older man in response, but it wasn’t the compassion that poured forth from his lips.

“You do not have to apologize to me, my lord.” Archer’s eyes softened. “The dungeon will be there tomorrow, as will my son and the others. You must find out what this is about, Prince James.”

_Aye, and open his eyes once and for all._

“My marriage is a farce, and may my people forgive me for my complacency,” he muttered, missing the startled look Archer gave him.

“You are far from being a complacent ruler, Prince James. Do not doubt yourself so,” Archer said. “You have not been well.”

Well or not, he could not look him—or Anna—in the eye. If he could not manage to stand up to his own husband, he would never forgive himself for whatever else might be headed their way, or for the additional pain Leonard could inflict on his people.

He set his jaw, set his mind on doing what was right. What _felt_ right, as Spock used to tell him to do.

“‘Tisn’t an excuse,” he muttered, breathing harshly through his nostrils at the fresh memory of his friend. “But the dreadful truth. May I take your horse, Anna?”

“Please, my lord,” she said, with a bow of her head. Archer handed him the reins. “‘Tis yours, besides.”

He hesitated. _His?_

Her head sank lower, but not before he saw her blush. “I borrowed him from the King’s stable, without the Huntsmen knowing.”

Despite the oppression settling about them, the tension thickening the air, James mounted the horse—and gave her a wry smile of appreciation.

 

oOo

 

“Where is he?”

He should not have been surprised that his husband had found him so quickly, but he was. Leonard, arms laden with his saddle, gave James only a wary, unmasked look before finishing his task. He set the saddle on his horse, grimacing as the wound on his side twinged—nay, more than twinged—t’was on fire—and ignored the reproachful look Maurin sent him from the opposite side of the stable.

They’d readied a horse for him, earlier, but he’d refused it. He’d given the ride to another reliable Huntsman along with a mask. ‘Twas a necessary trick—and risky—to confuse any of Nero’s scouts. They’d meet up with the first Huntsmen he’d sent out soon enough, taking a shortcut through Horngreen’s Woods, the last place they’d want to travel through by night. It was the lair of wolves and witches, of thieves and secrets. Yet, they had no choice. He did not believe Spock would last much longer under the hand of Nero. That was, if he were still alive.

“Huntsman, I am speaking to you,” James ordered.

“I have a name,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?” James came forward, still mounted on his own horse.

“I said, you must be brave,” he called over his shoulder. “To risk coming here to see me.”

Without even looking back at James, he could still see it in his mind. The stiffness of James’s shoulders. The firming of his jaw. His blue eyes sparking with defiance. Aye, his beloved had spirit. Had bite, even if he was the one who brought it out, not the King.

“I did not come to see you.”

“Yet here you are, talking to me.” Leonard pulled the strap tighter around the horse’s girth.

“You speak to me as an equal, though you are not.”

He rolled his eyes. With James behind him, he had no cause to worry that he’d seen it, but Maurin gave him another meaningful glance. He returned it with a glare and abrupt nod, a signal that he wanted time alone with James. It wouldn’t do for anyone to overhear this conversation. He had a sinking feeling it would be far from pleasant.

“We must depart, Horatio,” Maurin said, leading his horse out of the stable. “The King demands it.”

“Aye, and so I’ll be right behind you,” Leonard muttered.

“Nay, you will not follow him.” James slipped off his horse, his clothing rustling as he walked towards him.

A sure threat to the space kept wrapped around himself like armor.

His mood swiftly soured. He had not wanted to see James before he left, his reasons for leaving sound. He’d been protecting James with every step he’d taken away from him.

But, now, felt his control slipping. His ability to keep this false face was faltering. ‘Twas the worst of time for it to occur. He would be facing his greatest enemy by morning.

The name settled on his tongue like fire. _Nero_.

“Make it quick,” Leonard muttered, now turning around. He scowled when he saw the hurt, the confusion, pouring from James’s eyes, knowing it was his fault and his fault alone. “As you heard, your husband demands it.”

“Is it true? Do you go to chase Nero?”

His eyes widened. “Chase?” He laughed to cover up his astonishment over the unprecedented sarcastic remark. “We do not chase anyone, my lord.”

James’s eyes lost their warmth. “There exists _no_ good reason to fight my husband’s greatest enemy.”

He firmed his jaw. “Tis your greatest enemy, too, my lord.”

“I’d make peace with Nero, if I could.”

“Peace.” He snorted and brushed past James as he led his horse out of the stable. “I fear you would be waiting for an eternity, Your Majesty.”

He did not make it far. James strode in front of him in the blink of an eye. He reached out and stopped Leonard with a firm hand to his chest.

Leonard clenched his jaw, glaring down at his beloved. He did not like to be stopped in any matter, even by James.

“Remove your hand,” he gritted out.

James’s eyes narrowed. “Answer me, Huntsman.”

He would _not_. Not here. He reached up to grab James’s hand, but James pushed him against the wall, pinning him. Leonard, too startled to retaliate, and his wound hindering his movements, let him. He could not afford to appear weak.

“Do not test me,” James hissed. “I demand to know what King Leonard has in mind!”

Leonard took a deep breath, regretting doing so when his injury flashed hotly with pain. He must remain calm in the hopes that James would, as well. “He cares for you and felt that the truth would hurt you.”

James’s eyes focused narrowly on him. “Hurt me? Does he not understand that he hurts me by lying? By telling me naught of a possible clash with Nero?”

“He is not planning to start a war, my lord,” Leonard said through clenched teeth. “‘Tis a rescue party. Nothing more, nothing less.”

James’s eyes narrowed more. “Rescue party? For whom?”

“One of your own.”

James looked at him, confused. “My own? But, all are here.” He blinked, his expression swiftly changing, his lips curling into a snarl. “Except those in his dungeon,” he spat. “Aye, why doesn’t your King rescue _them_?”

Leonard said nothing. He could not blame him for this anger, which seemed to be only rising like the sun at dawn. Bright and furious, wanting to be seen.

“Did he even give them a chance? He captured them while I was sleeping, the coward.” James scowled. “I am ashamed of him, and I care naught who knows that I believe he is a fool.”

Leonard froze, his beloved’s words like another slice from a sword. Had his savagery caused his beloved this much pain? This much turmoil? He was used to being misunderstood, not detested, by the ones closest to him.

“His ways are dark,” Leonard affirmed quietly. “But how else is he to keep his facade? How else is he to influence his enemies? To make his enemies to believe that he is even more barbaric than Nero? A man who would slaughter us all in our sleep, without a second thought?”

James blinked several times. “Nero and his threats.” He released him and stepped away, chest heaving. “Is that all he thinks about? Can he not see that it isn’t the only way? Does he know he is consumed?”

“It is the only way.” Leonard lifted his chin. “You are alive, are you not?”

“But at what cost?” James’s shoulders curved inward. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “At what cost?” he whispered. “Nay, you do not understand.”

“Aye, but I do. He is King, at the cost of himself,” Leonard said, softening his tone. James was still not well, weakened and unsteady.

He would steal away with him, if he could. Back to the castle and forget this had ever happened. Yet, he could not. Spock’s life hung in balance, and he was the only one who could save him.

“Please, let me pass,” he urged, feeling a sudden desire to ease James’s own pain. “Go, free your people. The Huntsmen who are left here to protect the King’s castle and surrounding lands will listen to you.”

“‘Tisn’t that simple.” James stopped back, his expression wary. “If I were to free them, I would face the wrath of the king. Be thrown into the dungeon myself.”

“Would his mere wrath stop you?” he asked with a dry laugh. “I think naught. You are filled with fire, Prince James.”

“Aye,” James whispered. “You are right.”

He was taken aback. “My lord?”

“The king does all of this, at a cost to himself,” James continued. He lifted his head and stared straight into his eyes. “Why? Tell me, Huntsman.”

“I cannot. To do so would mean...betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” James closed the gap between them, his breath now dancing along his cheek. Leonard’s breath hitched as James licked his lips, his eyes smoldering with what he could only describe as desire. “Yet you are already so good at betraying your king, are you not? Enjoying his husband as your own?”

Leonard swallowed, an ache that was not quite pleasure filling his groin. What was James playing at? James did not care for the Huntsman, had pushed him away, forgoing their pleasure by the well. Then had shown such distaste for him, as the giver of the kitten. Forsooth, what was James doing? “I-I must go.”

Yet, he could not move. His limbs were heavy, aching with the hope that James would touch him.

“Tell me,” James whispered, his lips brushing along his jaw like they were already lovers.

_Huntsman and Prince._

He closed his eyes, imagining those lips seeking all of his bare, unmasked face, James’s hands tangled in his hair with abandon, breathing words of love, not caring who he was and who he had become. Nothing hindering their intimacy or destroying the sweet threads of love that had begun to entangle them.

_Aye, how he had longed for this..._

“Answer me, Huntsman,” James rasped his demand.

He groaned, a wave of wretchedness filling him. “James…stop...”

James paused a hairsbreadth away, unbearably close to his mouth. “What you’ve wanted, Huntsman, since you saw me—”

“Since I saw you?” he rasped with a laugh. Aye, he’d never forget James’s eyes. Eyes which had first drawn him in using first seeing them.

James’s lips drew up in a faint but pleased smirk. “Aye, you cannot deny it, Huntsman.”

“I cannot,” he admitted. He’d rather die than denounce what he felt for James. “You've bewitched me, body and soul.”

“What you’ve wanted, I will give to you,” James breathed.

The longing in his chest took his breath away. “You jest,” he croaked.

James’s stare intensified. “I give you my word. A word that is more honorable than your king’s, who said he’d never hurt me yet put my people in his dungeon when a few did not cooperate.”

“‘Tis better that way, to strengthen the rumors that abound of your barbaric husband. They must know to cross him naught,” he said, swallowing as he took a moment to come to his senses. “If you knew what he has accomplished, you would not speak so harsh about him.”

“Aye, I know of his accomplishments,” James bit out. “And I will not allow him to go any further. There is no room in my marriage for this cold savagery!”

This James before him, he knew naught. This James, from whence had he come? He was as beautiful as ever, but that wasn’t the only change. His will had been strengthened. His words sharpened.

“Do you truly see him as a savage?” he dared to ask James.

James’s gaze softened as he stared at an unknown point beyond them. “Nay, he is not savage with me,” he murmured. “Yet I will not tell you, Huntsman, that I believe he is hiding more than his face beneath that mask.”

Leonard’s brow furrowed. James—this James—was confusing. James just _did_ tell him.

“And I will know,” James said, tightening his hold on Leonard. He lifted his chin, once again in his face. “You will tell me.”

It was a challenge. “I will not,” he said, gently pushing him away. “‘Tis not my story to tell.”

James caught his arm, undeterred. “I am not finished with you.”

“I must go. A life is at stake.”

“Leave without telling me, and I will leave the King,” James stated.

“You cannot leave,” he blurted, shocked that James would say such a thing.

“I will start a rebellion,” James said, with a harsh laugh that pierced Leonard’s ears. “He knows naught what I am capable of. He never has bothered to let me prove myself. I _will_ leave.”

“I must disagree. He sees what I saw in the forest.” Leonard looked away, caught in the throes of an unlikely, burgeoning fear.

James would not make idle threats.

_He meant it._

“What, pray tell me, is _that?"_  James hissed.

He allowed his hair to fall, covering his face like a shroud. “A man with spirit, a heart that is beautiful,” he whispered. “A determination that is as unshakeable as the mountains.”

“Why did you not fight for me again, Horatio?” Jim asked, his body pressing near. “Why?”

His name—Horatio—sounded sweet on James’s lips.

He longed to hear it again.

With another groan, Leonard grabbed James’s wrist. He stroked his skin, then grabbed his other hand, unable to restrain himself from seeking more of him.

“Why?” he said hoarsely. “Would he have me banished from your sight forever? For defying him, the King?”

“There has to be more reason than that.” James did not pull away from his touch, but leaned into it, his parted lips just inches from his own. “He is hiding behind this secret, using his past to lose himself in his savagery. This I know.”

“You do not know him like I do,” he said bitterly. “You cannot possibly know what is on his mind. You are a new bride, soft and innocent,” he continued, infuriated that James tested him so. “Not a barbaric warrior, like I am!”

“Then tell me!” James’s eyes glittered with anger. “And this—” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against his. His lips were demanding and hard, far from the soft, luscious lips he was used to. Leonard felt consumed, taunted, pulled apart—and it did not set well with him. He let go of James’s hands, and twisted his hands in the younger man’s hair. Their teeth now clashed, and he claimed James for his own. He spun them around to press James against the wall, like the Huntsman had done days ago. James’s tongue twisted with his, as they were both overcome by desire.

But he could naught be with James. Too much was at stake.

He broke away from him with a cry.

“—can be yours,” James finished raggedly.

“J-James.” He could hardly speak, his body trembling. “You...you undo m-me.”

“Tell me, Huntsman.” James whispered, the soft, desperate plea tumbling from reddened, bruised lips. “And I will be yours upon your return.”

What was this promise from him? He dropped his head, his breath as ragged as James’s. “You jest.”

James laughed dryly. “I have tried to hate you, Huntsman, but your face haunts me. My husband left me. He barricaded me in my room, tricking me to make me believe that I heard sounds that weren’t there. To keep me from the truth. He has no honor.” James’s lips thinned. “He is a beast, and I want no part of him.”

Leonard winced. It was harsh, but it was the truth. “I...I would make it up to you,” he whispered. Egads, would James ever let the King touch him again? Would he need to be the Huntsman forevermore to regain James’s favor? What else could he do to regain James’s love?

_He would do anything._

He could no longer live with himself if he’d destroyed their marriage with his lies, although there was naught to help it.

“What does he hide?” James demanded softly.

Images of his sordid past flooded his mind, suffocating him. Yet, James was beguiling. He opened his mouth and, for the first time since before that fateful night, when he’d been innocent and young and untainted, told the truth.

He took a staggering breath. “He killed him...Your Majesty.”

“The King has killed many people,” James said. His eyes flashed with irritation. “Do not toy with me, Horatio.”

“Let me finish,” he said hoarsely.

James nodded. “Go on. ‘Tis the least you can do as recompense for your own grievances against me.”

A lump lodged in his throat. Only Geoffrey knew the truth. Nausea rolled in his stomach as the answer tumbled from his lips. “He killed someone most dear to him,” he rasped.

James’s eyes flickered with emotion. “A brother? A cousin?”

He closed his eyes in pain, lest James see it and understand the truth about the Huntsman, too. “Nay, my James. ‘Twas not his brother or cousin. ‘Twas someone...even closer in blood.”

The horror of his beastliness roared in his ears, stealing away the promise of a fulfilling marriage with James and replacing it with a nightmare. Regret and loneliness would always be his.

James sucked in a breath. “Who?”

May he forgive him, the noble man who’d suffered from his fatal wound on the battlefield until his dying breath.

Leonard swallowed thickly, and replied to the question he’d sworn he would never answer. “His father.”

He continued to clench his eyes shut, though he no longer shed the tears that he should. His heart had become calloused, immune to them long ago.

“His own father?” James said with a cry.

A proverbial rope scraped against his neck, a noose of his own making. “Aye, Prince James.” His heart wailed against the truth. “Tis his greatest claim to savagery. He killed—the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter brings (some) canon into the story regarding the death of Leonard’s father. Implied Euthanasia.
> 
> Agh! So that was the big reveal! I did try to drop clues in previous chapters! The next chapter is in the process of being written so another update shouldn't be too long. More action and more on Spock and Cake (and details regarding Leonard's father) soon. I hope the slightly dark turn this story has taken isn't too much to handle. It does help explain what Leonard has taken upon himself. Even so...a happy-ending is still promised.
> 
> (Side note- hopefully I can revisit my heavier/longer WIPS before too long! I apologize to anyone reading those for the long wait between updates.)
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about the story - and if anyone caught my Pride and Prejudice reference. :D Thanks so much for reading!


	12. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this update is a little dark...
> 
> Thank you to Diamondblue4 for editing and keeping me on my toes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read!

James stared at Horatio in stunned silence. Leonard had killed his own father?

Had he not been holding onto the Huntsman, and the Huntsman onto him, the answer would have brought him to his knees.

Even without the facts as to whether it had been an accident or, very doubtfully, murder, he saw, now, that Leonard had donned the mask either to disassociate from what he’d done and provide himself with a new persona—or to wholly accept his barbaric ‘tendencies.’

_Or both._

He did not feel the satisfaction that he’d thought he’d feel, now that he’d wrenched the truth from one of the huntsman about the king. He wished, for a moment, that he hadn’t asked. That he hadn’t provoked or tempted him. That he’d been content to remain a complacent husband to Leonard.

“Why?” he rasped. “Why did he kill the king? Surely it had not been _murder_. Perhaps an accident or...”

His voice trailed off when the Huntsman’s eyes finally opened.

“Horatio, answer me,” he urged.

Horatio shook his head once and kept his gaze on the ground. ‘Twas no wonder. Horatio had betrayed the king for the chance to be in James’s arms and, thus, betrayed his king _again_.

James would fulfill his end of the bargain, but not without feeling guilty himself, guiltily enough that it made him rethink his promise to Horatio. Still, he no longer trusted Leonard. How could he? The man had convinced him he was hearing things. However, a small part of him wondered what reason Leonard had behind taking such actions against him.

But neither did he trust the Huntsman completely. Or, rather, he didn’t trust himself with the Huntsman.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I would have him know that I forgive him.”

“Would you? Forgive a killer?” Horatio now looked off in the distance, at the woods ahead of them. “It is his story to tell, not mine. Release your hold on me, Prince James,” he said hoarsely. “I must ride with them.”

James released him, and sagged against the stable wall though he was far from feeling weary. Nay, ‘twas the opposite. Fire coursed in his blood. “He hates himself, doesn’t he?” he murmured, an ache, an irrepressible affection, once again blooming in his heart for Leonard.

“No more questions,” Horatio thundered, suddenly towering over him. “I’ve said enough.”

James stepped back, searching his face for some sign that he was pleased to have “won” him, but there was none. The Huntsman’s face was pale and devoid of emotion, a far cry from the hardy, outdoorsman Horatio had always appeared to be.

James suddenly felt lost. He couldn’t have betrayed two people, could he? He cared deeply about both...even loved each of them.

Curse his wretched heart, for allowing him to fall into a hopeless situation.

Perhaps he should keep his promise, after all, and allow this man to bed him. He did not completely trust the King, after all. He had spoken the truth to the Huntsman about the king. Neither did he wish to fall for his shroud of mystery again.

“You are not pleased, Huntsman,” he whispered, as the taller man brushed past him and towards his waiting animal.

The Huntsman stopped mid-stride, but did not turn back. “Not pleased, my lord?” Horatio laughed dryly. “I have lost all of my honor, what was left of it. Why would I be pleased?”

“You’ve lost it?” he asked, searching for anything to say to lessen the blow of what they’d promised each other. “Nay, you’ve gained honor helping me understand.”

“‘Tis not enough to cover all my wrongdoings,” Horatio stared back at him. “I will not hold you to your end of the bargain.”

His heart stopped. Horatio did not want him? Surely he did not mean it. “What?” he asked, shocked.

“You are...released, my James,” Horatio whispered.

“No, wait.” He took a step forward, to touch him, but Horatio turned abruptly and grabbed his saddle as if he were about to pull himself up and mount his horse. “Why? At least answer that.”

Horatio paused again. “Remain with your king,” he said quietly. “Do not lose your own honor over me.” His head lowered wearily. He looked every part of a defeated man. “I am not worth it, my lord.”

He stiffly mounted his horse.

James gaped at him. “Not worth it—”

“Horatio!”

James’s mouth clamped shut as Maurin shouted, suddenly appearing not twenty feet away. The other huntsman’s horse reared up, and Maurin twisted his head around to stare at Horatio, as he controlled his mount’s restless movements.

“We must leave,” Maurin ordered. “ _Now_.”

“Aye, I’m coming,” Horatio said weakly, so weakly that James reached for the reins and clutched them tightly before Leonard could follow.

The Huntsman had slumped over, one arm wrapped around his waist.

Unease settling in his gut, James took a second look. Blood seeped through Horatio’s shirt at his side.

James sucked in a breath. How had he not noticed the Huntsman was injured? “You are hurt,” he exclaimed. He glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Why did you not tell me?”

“A scratch,” Horatio said hoarsely, straightening himself slowly with a grimace.

“‘Tis no scratch,” he argued, holding the reins tight.

The Huntsman’s eyes fluttered, and he wavered in the saddle.

The horse suddenly whinnied, and began to move, as if sensing its rider was not well.

“Whoa,” James said, speaking calmly to the horse. He stroked its neck, staring intently at Horatio. “You mustn’t ride—”

“Nay.” Horatio’s brow twitched, glistening in the moonlight. “I must...go…”

James could not believe what he was hearing. “You are bleeding too much. Allow me to find Geoffrey.”

“Nay,” Horatio blinked heavily several times, his shoulders sagging. “James, I m-must...Sp…Sp...” His voice faltered, then he groaned. “Just l-let me pass. I beg of you. I am not...your concern. The King i-is yours.”

James pursed his lips, the Huntsman’s words bittersweet and deeply cutting him. “You do wish to be rid of me. The King, too, it seems, or at least he seems to want only part of me.” He laughed harshly. “The James who could be locked up and kept in the dark—and mad.”

Horatio’s head snapped up. “Nay,” he said, his breaths labored.

James could not help but place a hand on his leg, on his thigh, alarmed at how ashen-faced he looked in the moonlight. ‘Twasn’t natural. How could he ride?

“Nay.” Horatio swallowed. “Do not...think that way, my lord. I'd give...my l-life for you. As w-would...the King, who...no...doubt cares f-for y-you.”

James inhaled sharply. Those were strong statements.

Horatio stared at him. “I would, my James.”

James felt, keenly, both the heat coming from Horatio’s leg and his stare. “I believe you,” he whispered.

“Cousin!” Maurin snapped, glaring at Horatio.

Horatio closed his eyes, looking even more weary than he did a second ago. “Aye, Maurin,” he rasped.

Cousin? James frowned, looking between the two men.

He did see a resemblance. A great resemblance, in fact, even in the dim light that the moon and surrounding torches provided.

 _Cousins_.

Why had he not recognized this before?

“I must leave.” Horatio croaked, as he tugged on the reins, pulling them away from James.

“Please,” he begged one last time. “You don’t have the strength to ride. It is too dangerous for you.”

“I’ve ridden...through worse, my James.” Horatio's smile trembled.

_My James._

He blinked. Nay, it could not be…yet the Huntsman had said it not once, but several times. As naturally as Leonard had said it to him.

James peered up at him, studying Horatio’s profile.

His king...he would not be seen without his mask...would he?

“How did you get hurt?” he asked, stalling for more time.

“Nero’s men,” Horatio said matter-of-factly, but his eyes burned bright as he stared down at him. “They followed...the scouts the king...had sent.”

“One last question,” he said swiftly. “Before you go?”

“Horatio,” Maurin snapped, exasperated.

His heart thumped as the Huntsman gave a clipped nod, ignoring his cousin.

“Who do you seek to rescue?” Jim asked.

The Huntsman’s eyes grew hooded. “James...”

“Answer me,” James pleaded thickly. “Please. The King has kept me in the dark long enough. I do not need that from you, as well.”

Horatio’s eyes flashed with guilt. “Very well. The King...sent his men...a few days ago...to find your friend,” he explained, his breath laboring over each word.

“Did they find him?” James asked, voice thinning.

Horatio looked away, blinking up at the sky as if to clear his vision. “Aye, they found him.”

“They found...Spock?” James’s breath caught. He could hardly believe it!

Horatio’s expression was unreadable. “He had been...captured.”

James’s heart immediately sank. “Captured?”

“By Nero,” the Huntsman said. “I am sorry, Prince James.”

Nero? Nay, it could not be true! “But you saw him? Alive?”

“M—” Horatio stopped abruptly, wincing. He leaned over, gripping his side. “The King’s scouts...did.”

“You will…” He swallowed. “Find him? For me?”

“Aye, and Nero will relinquish him.” Horatio firmed his jaw. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

The passionate words sent a feeling of dread through his body. “Horatio…”

“Goodbye, my James,” the Huntsman interjected, pinning him with a look. He reached with his gloved hands to lift James’s chin, a gentle touch that was so familiar between them.

And perhaps...with someone else, too.

“Don’t go,” James whispered, knowing full well he was naive to think the Huntsman would stay.

“And your friend?” the Huntsman asked gently.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Aye, he was selfish when it came to the Huntsman.

“Your Spock will return to you,” Horatio whispered when he said nothing. “I promise.”

The words wavered unsteadily in his ears, and he felt himself losing his grip on reality. He could not understand this fresh confusion, mixed with fear, sweeping over him. He stared back at him, incapable of finding the right words to comfort the Huntsman—nor himself.

Why did this seem like a farewell?

Horatio dropped his hand. His chin felt cold without his touch. James reached up to touch his chin, the very spot where the Huntsman’s hand had been, his mind taking him back to their first meeting. In the woods, just the two of them and no one else.

Not even the king...

“Hyaw!” the Huntsman shouted.

James startled as Horatio turned and galloped away, before he came back to himself completely.

Maurin followed, sidling up to Horatio easily, just before they were lost in the darkness. Maurin reached out a hand and righted Horatio in the saddle, as he appeared to have lost his balance.

“No.” The feeble plea fell short, even to his own ears. “Wait!” he exclaimed, his voice strengthening. “Huntsman, please.”

But they did not hear him.

He ran to the edge of the woods, but they did not see him.

He had been left behind, alone in the night.

Rather than wallow in the realization that he’d been abandoned again, or fear what would happen to his friend, to the Huntsman he harbored such great affection for, he felt his courage rising. His people needed him, and he would be there.

To free them.

Just as the Huntsman had said.

 

oOo

 

Leonard saw him approach on a horse from the corner of his eye. They—one dozen huntsmen and himself—had not come far before he’d had to rest.

No wonder Geoffrey had found him.

Geoffrey stopped beside him. “You are a fool, Your Majesty.”

Leonard finished dousing his face with water from the river and leaned one elbow on his knee.

He sighed heavily. “Good eve, Geoffrey,” he answered in a weak voice, glancing back at the doctor behind him.

“Do not greet me so casually, you cursed fool!” Geoffrey exclaimed, slipping off his horse. “Look at you. You can’t even stand up, can you?”

Leonard sighed and hung his head. It was pointless to deny it. “‘Twould be difficult.”

“I need to examine you.”

“Nay.”

“Nay?” Maurin scoffed. “If it were me who were injured and not you, you’d chain me to my bed, Cousin.” He grunted and assisted him to his feet. “The doctor is right. This way.”

Leonard gratefully leaned on Maurin as they walked further down the river, to where the other huntsmen held their horses.

Geoffrey led his own horse to the riverbank. “You’re riding too slowly, if I could catch up to you. I insist I must see to your wound.” He glanced around, frowning. “There. I see a stump you can sit on.”

“Nay,” he protested. “We must—”

“You can’t possibly think about riding now! You can barely stand!” Geoffrey argued in a hushed whispered. He clutched his other arm and glared at him. “And you certainly cannot lose more blood than you already have. I can see that by just looking at you.”

He did feel faint. He blinked, slowly. “Fine.”

“Good,” Geoffrey stated, lifting his chin. “It’s the wisest thing you’ve said to me since before you met your James.”

“Before I met…?” Leonard scowled and wiped his brow. “Aye, he has caused me...to lose my mind.”

Geoffrey sighed. “For once, we agree.”

They led him to the stump, which looked large enough for a bed.

Leonard longed for a bed, not that he would ever admit it. Even a hard one would do. He sat, ungracefully, his limbs moving awkwardly, his mind buzzing. He heard them talk above him, while all he could do was think of James.

“‘Tis the blood loss,” Geoffrey murmured, glancing at Maurin. “He’s a fool to have let it go unattended this long.”

Maurin threw Leonard a reproachful look. “Cousin, if you plan to stand up to Nero, he will laugh in your face because you will no doubt collapse to the ground in a heap before you greet each other.”

Leonard leaned forward and rested his head on Geoffrey’s shoulder, which was nearer to him than Maurin’s. “Enough.”

Geoffrey unwrapped the rest of the bandage. He cursed. “I must operate, Leonard.”

Leonard ground his teeth together when the bandage pulled at his skin. “Just...do what will hold me together...for a time. I will go whether you take care of this...or not, Geoff.”

“Foolish man,” Geoffrey muttered. He motioned to Maurin. “Hold him, while I work.”

“Aye.” Maurin switched places with Geoffrey, allowing Leonard to lean on him instead, as Geoffrey cared for Leonard’s wound.

The next few minutes were a blur. An uncomfortable, tiring one. Geoffrey applied a poultice and a new bandage. It stung at first, but soon he felt more secure, like he could ride.

However, he did not want to rise when they were done. Rather, he could not move his own legs. “Sit.”

“He’s lost too much blood. He’s not thinking straight,” Geoffrey said to Maurin. “Watch him.”

“Aye, Geoffrey. Your Majesty, you cannot _sit_. We must hurry,” Maurin forced him to his feet.

He groaned, but allowed Maurin to guide him. It took both Geoffrey and Maurin to get him on his horse. Once he mounted it, he leaned over his saddle to steady himself.

His wound did not ache as much as it had before, but he felt his weakness as sure as he felt the love in his heart for his beautiful prince. “James?”

“I left to find you before I saw him.” Geoffrey hesitated, looking up at him.

“Check on him upon your return?” he asked breathlessly, the bandage tight around his side. “Calm his fears. He knows...I...the Huntsman...have been...injured.”

Geoffrey stared at him.

For a moment, he thought the doctor would find a way to keep him here where he could rest. Or oppose his simple request.

Finally, Geoffrey nodded. “I will see to your prince. It would be my honor.”

 

oOo

 

A heartbreaking whimper came from the corner of the cell lit by a single torch. James peered through the darkness and found them. A form leaning over her patient in a crude bed, one of the last prisoners left in this dungeon.

All of the others were free and heading for their homes, save for the handful who were weakened by impending starvation and sickness.

“There, there,” a woman murmured. “Your mother will be here soon.”

He walked carefully inside and crouched beside Gaila. She tended to a small boy who was too weak to be moved from the belly of Leonard’s dungeons.

“How is he?” he whispered, taking in the boy’s sleeping face, the perspiration covering his skin.

“His coughing took his breath away,” she said, wiping a cloth across the boy’s forehead. “Without proper nourishment for three days, he succumbed to another illness.”

He could not stop the rage rising in his chest. “Cake,” he gritted, sure that he was the cause of this deplorable situation.

“Aye,” she said, with a twisted smile. “He’s the fool who caused this rebellion, making them all refuse their meals because of a petty excuse.”

And hurting the children who had come with their parents, in the long run. “I will not let this deed go unpunished.”

She glanced sideways at him. “What shall you do, Your Majesty?”

“Allow him to feel the full weight of his inconsideration of the young ones,” he said quietly.

“He is a giant,” Gaila whispered, worry filling her eyes.

James offered her a crooked smile. “Do you see the Huntsmen behind me?”

The ones that the king had assigned to him, no doubt. They had found him by the stable, adamant that they were to escort him to the prison, by the king’s order. How had they’d known he was headed there? He had one suspicion.

Horatio, the Huntsman.

And by the king's order?

Aye, his head was spinning. Had the king stayed behind? Sent another masked man in his stead to fool Nero’s scouts?

Gaila had said she'd seen ‘a masked man.’

The king was cunning. Perhaps he was more cunning than any of them had expected.

“The Huntsmen?” She peered over his shoulder. “Aye, I do.”

“They will protect me,” he said. “But I do not believe Cake will harm me.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not.” She paused. “He is volatile.”

“Aye, but I will take that chance.” James glanced down at the boy again, frowning. “Can we move him?”

She gently lifted the boy’s head and helped him take a sip of water. “He should not be here where it is drafty and dark, my lord. Yet, he is weak. Too weak.”

James looked all around him and was met with isolation and gloom in every corner. “He needs sunshine and warmth.”

She lifted her chin. “‘Tisn’t a place for a child. I shall move him to—”

“The castle,” he interjected. “All who are sick, may come to the west wing. There are rooms, empty and unattended. We have spare beds. Let those who are sick rest in comfort for awhile.”

Gaila’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Your Majesty, I have never heard of such kindness.”

“‘Tis a time for new things,” he said, getting to his feet. “A hospital, where Geoffrey is on hand for all.” He frowned. “Where is Geoffrey? I have not seen him.”

Gaila shook her head. “One of the king's men told me Geoffrey rode out to follow the Huntsmen’s trail, to find the king, who was injured.”

The world around him shrunk. “Injured?” he whispered.

“Aye, in a swordfight.”

Egads, could it be true?

Was the injured king another decoy?

Or was his lover, the King, the very man his heart had turned back to…

_The Huntsman._

“‘Tis what he said,” Gaila confirmed. “I'm sure he will be fine, my lord.”

He could not speak.

“My lord?” she pressed.

He stared at her, his head and heart heavy. He could not untangle these clues on his own. His heart was bound to both. His soul cleaved to both of them.

Aye, that must be his folly. ‘Twas only his imagination. Or his guilt. If they were one and the same, he would not be betraying anyone, now, would he?

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a guard said from behind him.

He spun on his heel to see a prisoner restrained by not one, not two, but three guards.

 _Cake_.

“I will return, Gaila, and help you move the boy,” James said.

“Yes, my lord.”

He walked out of the cell and closed the door behind him before looking straight into Cake’s eyes. Cake stared back defiantly.

Where had the quiet, unassuming and responsible young man that he'd known all his life, Archer’s son, gone?

“This is the man responsible for the uprising,” a guard said. “We found him trying to escape.”

“Aye,” Cake said gruffly, with a shrug of his shoulders. “You set your people free, my lord, and I am one of them.”

“You are not one of them,” James denied. “I know naught any man who would cause innocent children to starve!”

Cake paled. “‘Twasn’t my intention, but to—”

“You _will_ be quiet!” He pulled himself up to his full height. Though he was shorter, and smaller, than the other man, confidence filled him once again, as if he were seated on his own throne in his own kingdom, governing his own people without interference by another. “I assume that your intention, Villein Cake, was to get back at the King? By convincing my people to revolt?” James asked.

Cake nodded slowly.

James hardened his gaze. “Tell me, then, just what you expected to happen? When they ran out of food? And water?”

Cake looked to the ground. “I wanted...this. To speak to you, my lord. But you were ill, and...you took longer than I expected.”

Nay, it could not be. This manipulation, only to speak with him?

“All of this?” he gritted, spreading his hands to indicate the now empty cells. “For a...a mere word...with me?”

His rage grew. Why had Cupcake not asked to seek his counsel? Why attempt a cruel rebellion after imprisonment?

“Aye,” Cake spat, struggling to get out of the guards’ holds. They held him back, yet he still strained. “A word.”

“You have my attention now. Speak,” he ordered, “before I lose all my patience with you.”

“A word with you about your huntsman,” Cake sneered.

“My huntsman?” James repeated. He willed himself to remain calm. “Forsooth, I do not have a huntsman. The king has Huntsmen, and they serve _him_.”

“Aye, but you do. I saw you, Your Majesty,” Cake said bitterly, his eyes lighting with malicious accusation in the ominous dungeon. “By the well, bending to his hands and every whim.”

_Bending to his hands and every whim?_

James’s neck heated as he felt the eyes of the guards upon him and the weight of Cake’s accusation pressing in on him.

“You are mistaken, villein,” he said, fighting to keep his tone neutral. “You saw nothing of the sort. If it's revenge you want for your presence here, you will find that you have failed. You cannot goad me.”

Cake smirked. “Your Huntsman is more than one of the king’s men, your majesty. He has a scratch on his hand, does he not? From the kitten he gave you?”

The image of the Huntsman’s hand and the jagged wound flashed through his mind before he could stop it. He looked at Cake narrowly, using all of his control. He could not have the guards questioning him, then doubting his leadership. “Enough! You speak nonsense.”

”Tell me, does the King take off his gloves?” Cake continued in a taunting voice.

_Indeed, he does not!_

“Silence!” James ordered, chasing his riotous thought to the back of his mind. He looked at both guards and inclined his head towards the back of the dungeon. “Put him in there.”

Cake laughed as he was forcibly guided by the guards who flanked him. “You don’t even know that he’s the ki—”

“Enough!” James boomed, the threads of his control finally breaking.

The guards froze. Cake’s mouth snapped shut, his taunting silenced despite the smirk that twisted his lips.

James rounded on him. “You are wrong. I do know who he is,” he whispered harshly, his own acknowledgement making his suspicions a haunting truth.

_King Leonard was his Huntsman._

He took a deep breath. “He is a complex man, one who has gone to save one of ours. In fact, one of your friends.”

“Who?” Cake asked, his suspicious voice echoing off the dungeon walls.

“Spock,” he replied quietly. “He lives.”

He _hoped_ Spock lived.

He hoped Leonard— _his Huntsman_ —would not do anything foolish.

Cake blinked, his mouth open in a shocked ‘o.’

His eyes locked on Cake and he ordered through clenched teeth to the guards, “Return him to his cell. He will be tried in a court for his actions.”

The guards grasped his hands and pulled them behind his back, restraining him.

“Nay!” Cake protested. “I did no wrong!”

“A child may die because of you and the meaningless rebellion you began for your own purposes,” James said. “The King provided food and clothing for my people in their cells. _You_ took away their comfort. Your peers will decide your fate.”

 

oOo

 

After riding through the night, they finally approached Nero’s camp, a white flag raised high. Leonard had gambled their lives for James’s friends. They came in peace. But as a safeguard, more of his huntsmen were approaching the camp from the other side and awaited his signal if things went badly.

His Huntsmen had not only pledged their allegiance to him but to his prince, as well. They would stay the course. He did not want this to end in a fight. Only a trade.

They believed, along with him, that whatever sacrifices were to be made were made for the betterment of the kingdom that they had left behind.

Maurin, of course, begged him to change his mind, one last time. “Cousin, please rethink your tactic.”

“Nay,” he said, leaning back in his saddle as comfortably as he could.

He was content with his decision. ‘Twas for James, after all.

And maybe, just maybe, James would forgive him for all the trespasses he’d committed against him.

“Cousin—”

“Enough, Maurin.” He stared straight ahead at the camp, lest the plea in his cousin’s eyes dissuade him. “My mind is made up.”

“You cannot,” his cousin hissed.

“‘Tis as good as done,” he said evenly, holding his hand up to halt his men. “Once you have them in your care, flee from here. Do not look back.”

“Cousin—”

“Promise me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I promise,” Maurin replied unwillingly.

Leonard’s most formidable enemy came out of a tent with a towel and wiped his face. Nero threw the towel on the ground and smiled crookedly at him from across the clearing, his tattoos striking in the sunlight. At least a hundred men were behind him, mostly on foot. Their horses were tied up elsewhere.

If something went wrong, he was certain this advantage would allow his Huntsmen to make it safely back home.

Nero began to laugh, a dark and mocking sound that would have a lesser man retreating in fear. “King Leonard, I’ve been expecting you.”

Indeed, several of Nero’s scouts had followed him through the pass, but they had slowly advanced, giving Nero no cause to fear he was coming to start a war.

Flanked on both sides by his huntsmen, with a number that was, at first glance, shamefully far below the count of Nero’s, Leonard gave a slow nod. He took advantage of the moment to steal another look of the large camp ahead through his lashes. His scouts had been right. Spock had been taken prisoner, along with a woman, and kept outside like animals.

“Nero,” he acknowledged.

Nero crossed his bare arms, his tattoos bulging along with his muscles. “You are brave—or stupid—to have approached my camp with a white flag and so few men.”

Leonard’s lips curled up in a snarl. “I’ve come to make a proposition. You know how new brides are.”

“A proposition?” Nero repeated. He twisted his head, as if to wade the tension in his neck, and hummed in his throat. “I heard you married. I guess I was right to suppose you’d come to find Prince James’s most highly regarded advisor. I’m glad I did not kill him, after all.”

Spock, who’d been forced on his knees on the grass, seemed to come to attention and out of his worn state as he spoke. He blinked open his eyes and stared at him, his gaze now surprisingly sharp compared to his sorry physical state and his clothes in tatters.

Leonard shrugged. “I came because it was only logical to assume you’d want a better prisoner than he turned out to be.”

Nero sneered. “A better prisoner? Nay, King Leonard. I’m quite pleased with what I’ve acquired. Two strong slaves.” He bent over and grabbed the woman by her hair, jerking her neck back and exposing her throat.

She gasped, her hands reaching up to grab his. “Please! Stop!”

“And beautiful slaves, I must say,” he laughed, twisting her hair more. She cried out again. “Look at her! I might use her in my bed. Nyota, is it?” He gave her a lewd look. “We shall be lovers for a time, Nyota, you will see.”

“Never,” the woman hissed and spat at his feet.

Nero bent and kissed her fully on her lips. She struggled, even when he pulled away. “She has fire, Leonard,” Nero said. “Tell me, Leonard. We both have savagery coursing through our blood. What better prisoner could I have than that?”

“None,” he said harshly, but his blood boiled. Aye, he was barbaric, but Nero was far more barbaric than he was. “Barter with me, for other slaves I have acquired on my raids, and you will not be disappointed,” he lied.

Nero snorted. “I don’t believe you. However…” Nero abruptly let go of the woman’s hair, causing her to fall forward on her hands. She cried out, and Spock moved to help her. He was instantly whipped with a cane by one of Nero’s men.

The cane came down on Spock’s upper back, and he could not prevent it. Hands bound behind him, Spock could only flinch and bow his head to try to avoid the strikes.

Yet Spock did not cry out. Not once.

He appeared, despite his capture, as strong as his James.

“Stop!” Leonard called out before he could rein in his tongue.

Nero raised his hand to halt the whipping. He narrowed his eyes on him. “You are not the barbarian I thought you were, King Leonard. Everyone has a weakness. It appears that Prince James and his pets are yours.”

“Let them go,” he commanded. He did not know this Nyota, and he was certain that James did not know her either, but he could not leave her with an animal like Nero.

Spock grimaced and straightened, locking eyes with him. Leonard swallowed, was the first to break the connection. Nay, he could not be caught in the torrent of emotion pouring forth from his eyes.

“Let them go? I think not,” Nero said, laughing again. “You want them, I can see, and that makes them more valuable than I thought they were.”

Leonard rolled his shoulders, though it caused pain to shoot in his side. “Valuable?” He chuckled darkly. “Nay, they are not valuable. I simply wish to appease my husband. I find he’s a far more suitable lover in bed when he is...placated by small things.”

“I could teach him a few lessons,” Nero said, a glint in his eyes. “Give him back to you, a more suitable and submissive mate.”

Nausea churned in his stomach at the image Nero’s words elicited in his mind. His James was not a plaything or a slave. “I found that James became a more willing participant once he had been branded,” he lied, vomit in his throat as he voiced the evil words. “On his bare backside. His pretty neck, too, where his collar secures him.”

Nero’s brows raised. “My, oh my. I confess that I am...intrigued. Yet I cannot let them go, even for a prize like him.”

Leonard grunted. “I thought as much. So you are prepared to fight over...scrabble?” he taunted.

Nero rose a brow. “Are you?”

“Aye,” he said flatly. “Though I’m not sure, now, that they’re worth my time. I do have James with his collar, and only his collar, after all,” he mused.

Nero made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “As much as I’d appreciate a good fight, with a worthy opponent such as yourself, I’m curious as to why you believe your other trade would have more than made up for these two slaves—and your precious James.”

_May James forgive him…_

Leonard lifted his chin in decision. His lands would be protected by James, who would prove to be a far better ruler than he. James’s compassion and strength of character would do more for his kingdom than his savagery ever had or ever will.

“The king,” he said.

Nero blinked, then broke into laughter. “You? Surely you jest.”

“I do not.” He slipped off of his horse, gripping the saddle for dear life as he stood.

“Nay, Your Majesty,” Maurin whispered for his ears only.

Nero narrowed his eyes on him. “I do not believe you.”

He dropped his sword and walked forward, leading his horse behind him. “Me,” he said, inclining his head towards Spock and Nyota. “For them.”

Nero unsheathed his sword and motioned with it to his men, who brought Spock and Nyota to their feet and prodded them forward. “And your kingdom?”

Though he wanted to assure them their lives would be spared, he dared not glance at either Spock or Nyota as they approached.

He walked slowly, careful so as not to bare his weakness—his injury—to Nero. “My kingdom is not up for negotiation,” he said flatly. “Only me.”

“I confess, you are a prize, King Leonard,” Nero said smoothly. “And to think, I might be the first to unmask you.”

He faltered, but briefly, his breaths suddenly heavy in his ears. “Aye,” he said, forcing himself to continue.

Nero walked towards him, his sword primed and ready. “You trust your James to lead your people in your savage footsteps?” he asked mockingly.

He smiled, for his path was clearer and purer than ever. “Nay,” he said softly. “I believe he will lead them to complete freedom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! Another evil cliffhanger...I'm so sorry!!! There will be more soon - probably mid-week. Thank you for reading and your comments along the way. I truly appreciate the feedback!


	13. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters after this! "Maybe" an epilogue, depending upon how the writing goes. I will be responding to your comments made over the past few days. I apologize for my slowness...was feeling a wee bit down and not up for communicating. 
> 
> Thank you, diamondblue4, for the wonderful (and I mean wonderful) help with this update!
> 
> Warning for slavery situation(s). (FYI, there is NO rape or dub-con in this fic.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

After his people were freed from prison and Cake dealt with accordingly, James returned to the castle with twenty Huntsmen in tow.

He wanted to deny that they were his to command, for not doing so emphasized Leonard's absence. However, their apparent ‘leader,’ a man by the name of Demetrius, another of Leonard's cousins, explained that they were, indeed, under his command. According to Demetrius, the king’s final order before he rode off to find Spock had been for these twenty of his best men to serve James, and follow his orders and his alone. The only exception was the initial order given by King Leonard that they were to obey Prince James. Demetrius had already made it clear to him that King Leonard’s command, under any circumstances, could never be reversed.

He could hardly believe that these broad-shouldered swordsmen, who had been trained by Leonard and obedient to him, were now to answer to _him_.

He had compared himself to them, surreptitiously, when they’d pass the mirrors in the halls. Next to him, Demetrius was a giant. A healthy giant, as were the others, surpassing him in strength.

He—James—still had the look of a sick man. Mere weeks had not changed that. A small part of him was concerned they would think him too weak. He clearly wasn’t the man that their king was, and he certainly could never hope to be that man.

Yet they’d already shown their allegiance was with him. He’d quickly discovered he had no choice in the matter and refusing their presence was futile. They followed him everywhere, to a fault. He was accustomed to having guards, but twenty seemed excessive. Not that he wasn't grateful. At times, he was so deep in thought, he could not help but look over his shoulder as if Nero himself were there, holding Spock hostage or, worse, Leonard, only to find Demetrius directly behind him instead, staring at him. He’d squelch the thoughts, for if Leonard's resolve was as much or greater than that of these twenty men, then Nero would be banished from this land forever.

The events of the evening quickly took their toll on him, and he found himself falling into a habit of old. One that Spock had warned him against months ago due to the stress it placed on him, but that he was powerless to resist—taking everything, even Leonard’s decision, unto himself.

He paced the halls restively like a cougar, waiting for word from Geoffrey, or the scout, or Leonard himself. The Huntsmen had formed two lines, flanking him. Not that he had noticed their formation right away. When he had noticed them, he’d finally resigned himself to the inevitable.

He was all that they had left. At least, for now.

He walked to the very end of the room and sat on the empty throne.

Leonard’s throne.

He rubbed the armrests of the chair worriedly, though sitting in the chair had given him some comfort, which had been at least half the reason he decided to sit in it in the first place.

Geoffrey had left nearly two hours ago. He couldn’t imagine that the doctor had continued on with Leonard and his men, even if he had caught up with them and tended the king’s wound.

Leonard’s wound…

How could he have forgotten? He had been so intent on Nero and a possible battle that he’d nearly forgotten the very reason Geoffrey had left to find the king.

One of the huntsmen cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, may I provide you with nourishment? A drink of ale, perhaps?”

He looked up, feeling as if he was in a dream. A nightmare.

“Your Majesty?” the man repeated.

He blinked himself to attention, and soon found the speaker. The question had come from one of Leonard’s oldest huntsmen, a man who reminded James of Christopher for his wisdom, wit, and assertiveness he'd shown in the short time they’d known each other, especially when it came to himself.

“Joel, is it?” James asked slowly. He’d tried to learn their names, but had, in fact, only remembered a handful.

“Aye, Your Majesty,” Joel said, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.

He was oddly amused. A smiling Huntsman was unusual, especially at a time like this. Not that he was complaining. It just proved to him all the more that there was more lightness of heart in this kingdom than Leonard thought there was.

“Nay,” James said, though his throat was parched. “Do not address me as the King. I am Prince James. It was the title decreed, after all, by King Leonard.”

He almost rolled his eyes when every single Huntsman in the room exchanged weighted glances with each other.

“As you wish...Prince James,” Joel went on to say. “Water, then, and hot porridge?”

“Nay.”

“My lord, if you do not eat,” Joel said, “you will not keep up your strength.”

“I do not think I can eat,” he admitted.

“Even so, you must try.”

He felt the Huntsmen’s eyes upon him and realized that they would eat if they were the ones in his position, and, therefore, so would he. “Aye. Water, and porridge.” He paused. “It will not contain any of the food that makes me ill?”

“Nay, it will not,” Joel said. “The cook is aware of your sensitivities.”

“Very well,” he said, nodding.

“I will take care of it at once, my lord.” Joel quickly left the room.

It was an odd task to give a huntsman, but he did not wish to find the kitchen himself.

In the silence, James glanced up at Demetrius.

The huntsman spoke before he could say a word.

“Aye, we do more than fight, Prince James,” Demetrius stated clearly, answering his unspoken question. “King Leonard appointed us to take care of various tasks, when his time in the castle required it.”

“I see,” he said. “And other than Maurin, you are the King’s chief advisor?”

Demetrius’s head lowered. “Aye,” he said. “You are perceptive.”

“Spock was mine,” James said absently.

“He will succeed in bringing Spock back, Your Majesty.”

He nodded, and did not bother to correct Demetrius. It seemed that Leonard’s Huntsmen were stubborn, the title slipping off their tongues like he’d never asked them to stop.

He stood and continued his pacing, considering taking a few moments and checking on Janice and Anna. It hadn’t been difficult for James to convince both women to help turn the rooms in the west wing into a makeshift hospital, so that the young boy and others who were sick could recuperate safely within the castle walls. Kevin was nowhere to be found, but Janice said he was licking his wounds and would come to him again in time, as his friend.

James sighed. He would not risk having his people further harmed, having already asked one of Leonard’s scribes to list his suggestions for changes in the kingdom. In the process, he’d kept his mind busy. His abilities for delegation and leadership had reemerged, two aspects of his rule that had been neglected when he and his people had grown ill, many of them increasingly fearful of attacks by Nero—or Leonard.

He mentally shivered. At least the raid on his own kingdom by Leonard and his huntsmen was over. He would never have to think on that nightmare again. Healing had begun in one form or another, though more than provisions and medical care must be done to mend the rift between the people and Leonard.

However, his main concern now was Nero. Yet without word from Leonard or Geoffrey he was lost. He was also caught between anger over being left in the dark—again—and worry over the possibility that Leonard and his Huntsmen had met with more than they had bargained for. He could not ride out with any more men on a whim, leaving everyone here unprotected. To do so would be foolhardy.

He crossed his arms, shivering as much from nerves as the coldness of the drafty room.

Demetrius stepped out of formation a moment later, coming to stand several feet in front of him. “Your Majesty,” he said, holding out a robe. “Might I suggest you wear this. ‘Tis King Leonard's. I am sure he would want you to use it.”

James nodded wordlessly. Demetrius slipped it over his shoulders. Leonard’s scent lingered in the fabric, but he caught himself before taking a comforting sniff.

James cleared his throat. “Thank you, Deme—”

The doors behind him crashed open like thunder.

James spun on his heel to see who had entered so abruptly, but could not see over the huntsmen who barred his line of sight.

“‘Tis only me,” Geoffrey said apologetically.

“Let him pass,” James ordered quietly.

The huntsmen parted, allowing the doctor to walk towards him in the narrow path formed by their bodies.

“You found him,” James surmised by Geoffrey’s strained expression.

“I found him.” Geoffrey stopped and held out a scroll that was bloodied and spattered with mud.

James hesitated. “What is this?”

It had no marking, no seal.

“A message from him, Prince James,” Geoffrey said.

He took it but did not open it. “How is he?” He searched Geoffrey’s face for signs that all was well with Leonard, after all, but saw none.

“He’s lost too much blood,” Geoffrey admitted.

James paused, his chest tight and his shoulders laden with this new burden. He could read between the lines that Leonard was not well enough to fight Nero. “You could not stop him?”

Geoffrey bowed his head. “Nay, I could not. He would defy everything to complete his mission.”

“Aye,” James said ruefully.

“Read it, Your Majesty,” Geoffrey urged. “It will explain…”

Geoffrey’s voice trailed off into nothing. Still, James held his gaze, waiting for him to continue. He did, but with only a murmured, “‘Tis his last words to you.”

Apprehension tightening his throat, James spun around and strode to the throne. He eased himself into the seat, willing his knees to remain strong, feeling all eyes upon him. The scroll, despite being without a waxed seal, stuck as he tried to open it, but with a gentle tug it sprang free from the dirt and blood. At first, he could hardly distinguish the scrawl he assumed Leonard had written only hours earlier. However, once he ignored the others around him, and imagined the words being spoken by Leonard to him, the scrolling missive came into complete focus.

_My beloved,_

_Geoffrey is breathing down my neck as I write but I would be remiss if I wrote you naught. You are all to me, my James. My breath. My heart. My actions are naught what my advisors would agree to, but my actions agree with what is in my soul. All else matters naught. I go to Nero to free your friend. But that is not the only reason._

_I did not dispose of the letters you composed during your periods of madness. You will find them tucked behind a loose brick by your fireplace. Read them. I did. You, too, are plagued with guilt over your father’s death. But you, my James, did not kill your father like I did. You are still pure. Darkness has not ravaged your conscience like it has mine. Nor will I will allow it to._

_I will discover who killed your father, to free you from your own guilt which has so manifested itself through your bouts of insanity; this guilt which presses upon your heart still, though you do not speak of it. I see it in your eyes, my James._

_I have my suspicions. They lie with Nero. Thus, I would give up my life again and again to ensure your freedom and happiness. I know naught how I will send you my discovery of the truth, save for a scrawl in the dirt floor of the dungeon that I know I shall be imprisoned within._

_Forgive me, beloved, for failing you as husband—and Huntsman. In this endeavor I will not fail, because you gave me reason to live again._

_Do not come for me, my James. Rule with compassion on your side. They will listen._

_Forever yours,_

_Leonard_

James could hardly breathe when he was done reading.

He did not wish to read the words again, but his will was not strong enough to resist. His hands shook as he reread the last few lines from his husband, the precious words winding tightly around his heart, nearly suffocating him with their finality.

Leonard wrote as if he’d never see him again.

“Demetrius,” James said hoarsely.

The huntsman moved forward, his head bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do we have...a minstrel?” James asked, the lump in his throat pressing painfully against his skin.

“Aye. Shall I call for him?”

“Send him to the children,” James whispered.

“Your Majesty?”

He straightened his shoulders. “The sick children,” he clarified. “Send him to them, to sing and play as they recover.”

Demetrius lifted his head, his eyes bewildered.

James swallowed the traitorous lump in his throat and mustered the last of his tenuous courage. “They will appreciate him more than I,” he said determinedly. “Give them comfort, when I have naught. That is the way of a king.”

 

 

oOo

 

The journey back to Nero’s castle was just as difficult as Leonard thought it would be. Worse, as he had not expected the loneliness to shake his resolve so.

Forced to walk behind his captor’s horse with his hands bound before him, and bear the rocks thrown at his back, each step he took was brutal. Not only was he weighed down, by the additional shackles imprisoning his feet, but he was also limited by the weakness his injury had caused.

 _Weakness_. He, as a barbarian, despised weakness. _Nero_ despised weakness, no doubt more than he did.

The last thing he should be was weak, yet here he was, sagging in his boots like he had no strength.

He peered up at the steep hill littered with rocky paths, sweat stinging his eyes. He did not know how he would make it, but with a grunt, he leaned forward to make the journey uphill.

Suddenly, a fiery pain ripped through his chest.

He wavered, barely catching himself before he crashed to the ground. His vision blurred more as he gagged on the vomit riding to the back of his throat.

“Look,” the men scoffed around him. “The slave king can’t move without making a sound.”

Nero turned on his horse to stare at him. The look was calculating, as if Nero was weighing the benefit of his life. “Slave King,” he mused. “It is...fitting for you now, isn’t it?”

He held his stare defiantly, sweat dripping from his forehead. He should not have shown such weakness, not that he could have stopped his body’s reaction to the strain.

“If you cannot walk,” Nero clipped as expected, “you die.”

“Aye, I’ll walk,” he rasped.

He breathed heavily, hands shaking as he straightened his spine and the horse pulled him forward. Nero turned around after another measured glance. Only then, did Leonard relax his shoulders and give his surroundings another cursory look.

It was peaceful above him. The sky was clear, a bird flying overhead, going the same direction his Huntsmen, Spock, and Nyota had fled.

His plan had worked, at least for now. He had provided Nero and his men with a distraction. Him. Aye, he’d be a slave king forever if it meant James’s friend would go free, and Jim’s mind find rest at last.

Time passed, but he knew naught after a while where they were. His efforts were focused on moving his feet, nothing else. When the horse suddenly stopped, he could not believe that they had arrived.

He wavered again, unbalanced by the lack of tension in the chains. A man moved quickly to his side, swift as a bat in the night, but before he could turn to look at the figure, he was pushed.

He fell to the ground, the breath stunned from him.

“Strip, slave!” the shadow above him sneered into his ear.

Though he had taken prisoners of his own in the past, a fresh horror washed over him. Nay, he did not mean for him to shed himself of his clothing!

“I said, slave, strip!”

He coughed several times, to try to clear the dust from his mouth, but it was pointless. The horses around him kicked up billows with their tails and hooves like a storm cloud shed its rain.

“Strip!” Nero’s guard kicked him. “Slave King!”

“Slave King,” another taunted. “Nero will have his fun, breaking you!”

As laughter rang in his ears, he curled into himself to protect his injury. Biting his tongue in order to not cry out, he suffered several more kicks before he was hauled to his feet. He staggered and by sheer will held onto the last of his strength to remain upright.

The dusty wind whipped his hair to and fro, but he saw another approaching figure though the strands plastered to his face with sweat and mud.

 _Nero_.

“Strip?” Leonard asked through clenched teeth.

“Do you wish to live?” Nero asked, cocking his head. “I'm surprised, Leonard, that you aren't obeying to stay alive.”

He said nothing.

“If you wish to live in my... _home_ ,” Nero began, walking around him. “You must be rid of the filth that covers you. Not that I am concerned about your health, but I do not want you bringing vermin or disease in here. This is my world, Leonard, not yours. Strip of everything—except for your mask. I have plans for that for another day.”

Leonard blinked several times while he made his decision. He swallowed and held out his shackled hands. Nero nodded to the guard, who unlocked the chains. The chains fell to the ground. Before he was even able to rub his wrists, the guard unlocked the shackles at his feet, then nudged his back to prod him to obey.

He met Nero’s gaze and with every shred of dignity he had left, slipped out of his shoes, his pants, and then his shirt. The guards laughed and kicked his clothing off the path, into a puddle of mud.

He was left standing as naked as the day he was born in front of Nero’s moat and castle.

Nero chuckled as looked him over, prompting another wave of laughter from his men. “I have to admit that I thought you appeared to be a weak slave, King Leonard,” Nero said with a smirk, staring at Leonard’s side. “I see now that you’ve been injured and will not survive unless you’re treated by my doctor. You will be treated in prison, where you shall stay. For now.”

He clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from protecting his bloodied side. Aye, he needed a doctor, but not one of Nero’s. He needed Geoffrey. Or...himself.

He was certain if he were left, to his own devices, he’d manage to care for his wound on his own. Aye, he wished to be alone. He’d read every book on medicine in the library, before he’d spilled his father’s blood.

He had told Geoffrey naught, but there had been a time when he had even practiced suturing.

When he was just a boy—stopping only when his skill was perfected.

Nero walked towards him, staring again at his torso, then lower to his groin, but did not touch him. He didn’t have to. Leonard knew by the look on his face what was on the despot’s mind.

It took all of his training to tamp down the nausea— _the fear_ —roiling in his stomach, before Nero saw his turmoil plainly on his face.

Nero swept his fingers carelessly along Leonard’s bare arm. “I do not wish for you to die, Slave King. There is more to you than your savagery. There must be, to have so many faithful followers.”

_Forsooth, he'd never again feel James’s loving touch._

“I wish to discover, soon, why you care for Prince James,” Nero mocked as if reading his mind. “Why you might, just perhaps...love him.”

He sucked in a breath, helpless when an image of James’s beautiful face flashed through his mind.

Nero’s lips curled into a sneer, a look of triumph filling his expression.

He hated himself for it, but in that moment, _he wished to flee._

“I will find out, Slave King, why you traded your life.” Nero’s whisper danced along his ear. “No savage king would bend to the whims of love, would they? Hmm?”

He knew, then, his days were sorely numbered. He'd die, first, before telling him a single thing about his James.

 _Nay_ , he fought within himself. He'd survive, do whatever he could to stay alive.

He was here to discover information about Nero. To save James.

“No matter.” Nero chuckled. “One day, Slave King, you will tell me. You will prove useful to me in more ways than one. Once you're broken.” He snapped his fingers, summoning the guards.

Leonard glanced down at his feet, blinking back the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. Egads. He hadn't cried in years. Didn’t know he could still make them.

Why now? _Why?_

Better it was him who was here than Spock or his companion.

_James. Oh, James._

He had believed himself to be strong. Yet without his James, the courage in his heart began to fail.

“Guards!” Nero called. “Chain him and take him away.”

 

oOo

 

The morning came slowly, yet James did not slumber, nor did those in his counsel around him. He reviewed the maps again, dissatisfied. “If we had enough fresh horses for the larger army to move, and all the necessary supplies, maybe we could cross through the mountains. We’d lose a quarter, maybe a third of our men in the severe weather they'd meet up with without the horses packed with warm blankets and canvas for tents. I should know,” he continued, his head sagging. “My father attempted the same trek, never to succeed.”

Never to come back.

They had argued before he’d left, as father and inexperienced, younger son, all because James had instinctively argued against his father's sections, ultimately disobeying him.

That was the last time they’d ever spoken. He clenched his hands into fists, remembering the pain and disappointment on his father’s face, as he set forth for the mountains, like it was his own.

He closed his eyes as the loss swept over him again. He could not risk so many men on such a trip, leaving the people here unprotected. “We cannot attempt it,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Demetrius interjected apologetically. “I did not intend to steer the conversation towards what was such a tumultuous time for you.”

He glanced up at the huntsman, a man he’d prefer to call General, and the man beside him, Joel, wishing again that Spock’s message to King Christopher had been successful, not a failure, as he had expected it to be. “I mourned years ago,” he said, to imply he wasn’t now. Though it wasn’t exactly the truth. He did mourn still. And Leonard was right. He did blame himself, for being a sickly son without the strength or battle wisdom to persuade his father to take a different course. In essence, disapointing him so much, which caused King George to make a grievous error while taking the army to fight Nero. “If we can reap the lessons learned,” he said painfully, “then so be it.”

Demetrius’s mouth thinned. “We will not have fresh horses, especially when the others return.”

It was nearing midday. He refused to believe they would not return. With everyone.

“We must think of another way,” James added decisively, clasping his hands behind his back. “We walk in.”

Demetrius and Joel both peered at him like he was crazy.

James shrugged. “We disguise ourselves as misfits? Court jesters?”

Joel inclined his head, a measure of amusement in his eyes. “We cannot just walk in, Your Majesty.”

James pursed his lips. His instincts told him that there was a way, if only he could think clearly enough to discover it.

Perhaps he should ask Geoffrey for another dosage of the concoction, to clear the last of the cursed elements from his body.

“We simply cannot surprise him, Your Majesty. Not by approaching him by the north, nor by the east.” Demetrius shook his head. “Only by way of the mountains.”

“The south?” He was not as familiar with Leonard’s kingdom as he would have liked, but he did see several advantages in traveling by water, even without full knowledge of the lay of the land. The river below Nero’s was high now, the rains bringing it close to flooding. ‘Twas dangerous, like the mountains, but not impossible.

He did not believe in impossibilities.

“Some men, not all. We do not have enough boats.” Demetrius hesitated. “The ones we stole—”

James’s brows raised. Egads, he would have to get used to Leonard’s ways…or convince him it was not in the best interests of a peaceful life to continue them.

“—are in poor shape, Your Majesty.”

“I do not wish to wait a day,” James said quietly. “But it’s wiser for all of us to wait, even a week. I need those boats readied.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

He bit his lower lip. “What would Leonard do?” he whispered.

“He would not risk all his men,” Demetrius said firmly. “And you have decided the same.”

The doors creaked open, halting their conversation.

Geoffrey entered, panting. “They’ve arrived, Your Majesty,” he called out breathlessly. “They will arrive at the castle doors...in minutes. I must prepare in case there are any wounded.”

There was fear in the doctor’s eyes.

He did not waste a single second, but strode towards him. “Leonard? Spock?”

Geoffrey blinked at him.

“Answer me!” he demanded, stopping in front of him.

Geoffrey startled. “Sp-spock is s-saved, “ he stammered uncharacteristically.

“Is Leonard with them?” he asked through clenched teeth.

His world crashed as he saw the truth in Geoffrey’s eyes.

“Nay,” James whispered, his voice wrecked.

Geoffrey's face tightened. “I’m sorry, my lord.” His eyes filled with pain, reminding James that he, too, had lost someone when Leonard had given himself up. He’d lost a friend. A true friend. “They do not see him.”

James swallowed. “Spock, is he well?”

“I will not know until I examine him.” Geoffrey took a breath. “There is more, Your Highness.”

He looked at him quietly. “Aye, tell me.”

“The huntsmen...they are not alone.”

He clutched his arm. “Tell me,” he insisted.

Geoffrey bowed his head, shaking his head.

“Geoffrey,” he warned.

“I could believe it naught, myself. King Christopher, Your Majesty,” Geoffrey whispered, lifting his head.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“King Christopher,” Geoffrey repeated. “And his army. They walk with them.”

James stared at him. Had he misheard? “Christopher?”

Awe burgeoned in the doctor’s eyes. “His colors wave in the sky.”

“Spock. Christopher. His colors,” James repeated numbly. “Gold? And blue?”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“This is our hope, Your Majesty,” Demetrius said.

“Then let us go,” he said, a smile growing on his face. “I will not stand here like our hope has been vanquished.”

Spock. _Christopher_.

He ran to greet them.

 

oOo

 

Leonard kept track of the days he spent in the dungeon by the number of bowls set on the floor inside his cell in the morning. All in all, he’d been here five days.

But he’d lost time before that, stuck on a cot after a man with rotted teeth and lice in his hair placed his dirty hands on his wound and sewed him together.

He could have been here over a week. Maybe more. Alas, he did not know, and no one would tell him.

He groaned, loudly. No one within his pathetic cell was listening, for no one was there. His skin was hot, and not just along the wound on his side. Yet, he did not speak to anyone of his suspicions that he had an infection. Nor did anyone check.

Egads, he wished that he’d killed the man with the shackles on his feet before letting him touch him. He could have. The surgeon, if one could call him that, had also been drunk.

But it was too late now. What was done was done, and would likely kill him before the torture finished him off first.

He didn’t bother making himself a bed out of the meager pile of hay but settled on the floor, his face near a puddle of water made from a slow drip from the ceiling. He stuck his tongue out and lapped it up, too exhausted to move otherwise. Nero’s head slave had taught him all that he needed to serve Nero well, and his first day had been…

He choked on the water, repositioning his chained hands the best he could, placing them under his head as a pillow. Nay, save for the information he’d gained that Nero prided himself for the slaughter of five kings after threatening their kingdoms, he did not want to think of what his day serving Nero had been like.

_He did not._

“Slave!”

Leonard jerked his head up, his chains rattling.

A guard stood at the door. Mule was his name, though he was no diminutive animal. Nay, he was a giant and as formidable as one of his Huntsmen. “The king requests your presence. There is a matter of which you can be of service.”

He laughed hollowly. “What? A matter of which—”

Mule swung his arm, the movement as quick as that of a striking snake.

The whip flicked Leonard’s ear, leaving a spot of searing heat. He hissed and flinched away, covering his ear. When he pulled his hand away, it was bloody.

“Move!” Mule thundered.

“Aye,” he said hoarsely.

Swallowing, he stood and followed. It was no easy feat. The blow from the whip had disoriented him. Maybe even more than he’d realized. For when he shuffled into Nero’s hall, he was greeted with the howls of a madman in royal but tattered clothing, dirt and mud smeared on his skin.

The madman’s blue eyes were unmistakable.

“James?” he cried, staring in horror at the man who was on all fours and foaming at the mouth.

“Aye,” Nero snarled, his sword at the ready. “It appears so, slave King. _Alone_ , with not a Huntsman in sight for miles. And why, might I ask?”

“I…” He blinked at James, who did not appear to recognize him. “I do not...do not know why.”

James snarled and hissed at him, his eyes glazed with what seemed to be a fever.

“Guards! Where are those crones? Who knew this man as a child?” Nero roared, batting at James as he rubbed against him. “His teeth are sharp and he stinks! Get him off me!”

The guard startled. “Coming, my lord.”

“‘Tis from childhood,” a woman’s feeble voice protested from behind them. “I know him!”

“Finally, you arrive,” Nero complained to the woman, a white-haired, frail crone who moved with a cane. Nero sheathed his sword. “What is this plague upon him?”

Leonard adjusted his chains so he could move more easily and crouched near James, who pawed at the ground. The prince’s eyes darted wildly back and forth between Nero and Leonard and the crone, but not as if he recognized them. Nay, he behaved as if he was seeing things in another world.

“James,” Leonard whispered, trying to gain his attention.

“I know him,” the crone cried again. “He is guilty, my lord! Guilty!’

“How do you know him?” Nero demanded. “What do you mean, guilty?”

“He suffers, he does,” the crone continued raspily, yet with a gleeful, crooked smile. “See?”

James jumped towards her, his nails scratching her skin.

She merely laughed as he hung from her gown, foaming at the mouth. Some of it dropped on her gown as he butted his head against her. “I knew it would come to this! He is mad, Lord Nero!”

“Why?” Nero asked, his cold eyes suspicious.

“He killed his father! He is a murderer!” she cackled. “Murderer!”

Leonard flinched as the crone's screeches echoed off the walls.

Nero stared at Leonard. “Is this true? About his father? You knew him before. Is he mad?”

Leonard opened his mouth to speak, but could find nothing to say. _Nothing_. Nothing to either condemn or deny James’s condition. In fact, he did not know what to do.

James had not even acknowledged him.

James had not seen him.

_James had not…_

Egads, had James gone mad without him there? Was this his fault?

“He does not speak for he knows it!” the crone’s eyes were afire. “Aye, Lord Nero, do you see? Do you see what this means?”

Nero narrowed his eyes on Leonard. “Answer me! I want to hear from you, Slave King, about your husband.”

“He is mad,” he whispered, sitting back on his haunches. He blinked at James, who’d fallen now on his back, suddenly silent. “‘Tis true. The crone...is telling the truth. I’ve seen it many times with my own eyes.”

Nero hummed, stroking the nape of Leonard’s neck. Leonard remained still, not wanting to anger him by moving away.

“Interesting, though it is I who killed his father. Not him.” Nero shook his head. “A pity, since he is pretty and young.”

Leonard felt the air in his lungs freeze solid at Nero’s confession admittance. He’d killed King George?

_That had been all he’d wanted to hear._

Nero’s hand rested on his back. James hissed.

Leonard thought, at first, that he had imagined it, but then James hissed again.

Nero paid the sound no mind, but strode back to James and leered over him. “Then who is ruling your land, Slave King?” He laughed. “Who? If not James? Who?”

Leonard lowered his head, inhaling deeply. Nay, he did not know, and he could not bear staring at his beloved in this state. It broke his heart.

“I would not be so cruel as to separate you from your husband, Slave King. James will be imprisoned with you so you can deal with his insanity,” Nero mocked. “Guards! Take them away!”

Mule grabbed Leonard by the arm and heaved him to his feet, a pair of men dragging James behind them.

“Do you wish to ride out, Lord Nero?” One of Nero’s guards asked, as Leonard and James were led away.

Nero’s eyes glittered with heated anticipation. “It is only logical that we find out.”

“Shall I inform the men, Lord Nero?” the head guard questioned.

Leonard strained to hear his answer, but was prodded forward. He came to attention but not without a sideways glance at James.

James still did not look at him, but low growls rumbled in his chest, reminding him of disgruntled cat.

Once they were in the cell, Mule deposited James in the puddle of water, kicking him once before he locked them in.

James did not react. He stared up at the ceiling as if he were somewhere else in his mind.

Leonard almost envied him. To be oblivious to this hell of Nero’s making would be a dream come true. Nero was not good to his slaves.

“Good night,” Mule said, his eyes glittering. “And good luck, Slave King. With him,” he said, nodding his head towards James. “You’ll need it. He nearly bit off Frederick’s ear when they found him in the forest. Soiled himself, too.”

The door closed with a thud, the jingle of keys a second sound of finality.

He stared at the door in shock. He’d been imprisoned with his insane husband. Who he’d told not to find him.

_James had foamed at his mouth._

James had never done that before, never acted like a starved and rabid animal. Had Geoffrey not taken care of James like he had promised? Like he had asked him to? What food had he missed that the villeins had hidden? Egads, he should have taken everything from them to find it!

Leonard glanced twice at the window in the door that allowed the guards to see him, but went over to his husband, nonetheless. With a shaking hand, he smoothed James’s hair off his forehead, appalled at his ragged appearance.

“Why did you come? I told you not to. I told you,” he whispered with a cry. A tear slipped down his face and splashed upon James’s cheek. “Why?” He clenched James’s shirt and burrowed his head in his chest. “You should not have come. You should not have come.”

Every part of him had broken. Now there was no chance of escape. None.

“What h-happened to you?” he rasped, the shocking strangeness of the situation filling his mind with horrifying possibilities.

“You left me.”

Leonard froze at the sound of James’s soft voice. His sane voice.

A hand began to stroke his head. “James?” Leonard asked hesitantly.

“Of course. Who else is in here with you?” James asked, his voice full of mirth. “You left me. Foolishly, I might add. What did you expect me to do after you left, Leonard?”

He feared discovering that this was only a dream, a figment of his imagination, but he lifted his head. Courage he had naught, but love in his heart he had and compelled him to look.

James’s lips curved into a smile. His clear eyes were _beautiful_.

“Leonard,” James murmured, his eyes sad as he took in his tortured body. “Look at you.”

He sucked in a breath. “James? Y-you are not…”

“Insane?” James laughed softly. “No.”

“Then why did you come?” Leonard choked, as incipient tears threatened, then began to fall. His tears continued unceasingly. “He will never free you.”

“Did you hear him?” James whispered, his eyes flitting to the door and the open window. “Did you? Nero’s army, my lord. Nero’s _army_.”

_Nero’s army._

“What does it matter?” He scoffed. “You gave yourself up!” He rubbed his eyes, his hope lost once more. “Tell me I am seeing things, my James...you did not do this, risk your life—”

“I did,” James said firmly, stopping him. “And for you, I would do it again. Did. You. Hear. Him?”

The way James emphasized the question struck a chord deep within him. It was as if James were King—and he was not.

He suddenly paused and smiled to himself. He was a slave, but he was finally happy like this. With James, so confident. So _well_. “Aye,” he murmured. “I did. He’s moving his army.”

“He’s moving them away from here because he can’t stand the idea of something so valuable wasting away. Like your kingdom. Just like we knew he would.”

“Like you knew...James, did you come alone?”

“Aye, I came alone,” James admitted, taking Leonard’s hands. James held them up to his mouth and kissed them, looking into his eyes. “Christopher remained behind at your castle.”

His heart fluttered. “Christopher?”

“Christopher.” James paused, a contented look rising on his face. “And Spock.”

“He came?” He pressed again, still not sure. “King Christopher?”

James nodded. “His army’s nearly twice the size of Nero’s now, what with our huntsmen.”

Leonard knew, then, what James had done. He’d drawn Nero out, planning to attack when he was on Leonard’s lands, overconfident and vulnerable to attack.

“Egads, they are ready for him,” he chuckled in dazed understanding. “They are ready, and they will _fight_.”

James kissed his hands, his cheek, his face. He rubbed Leonard’s nose with his own and smiled. “Aye, my love,” he whispered. “Like never before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please review? I hope you enjoyed the twists and turns in this one! And also the "happier" cliffhanger. :)
> 
> I hope to update with Chapter 14 by the beginning of next week. Until then!
> 
> Oh, I almost forgot. I did not include a scene with James and Spock, obviously, but there is a chance that I will write that scene (which would include Christopher, too) and make it a one shot/missing scene. I just didn't feel it fit this chapter. You will be seeing Spock and Christopher, though, rest assured, before this story is over. :)


	14. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the extra wait - I wasn't up for writing for much of this week. I'm not an artist by any means (I dabble in it), but my muse inspired me to draw the Huntsman. I hope you enjoy the drawing. You can find it on my tumblr (link in profile) for now. I was going to add it to this chapter, but I'm really slow this morning, and can't get it to link right. :D
> 
> I'm considering adding a chapter of 'artwork' at the end of the fic, if I can get one or two more sketches done, so watch out for that. :) Prince James has been harder for me to sketch. I've tried several times to draw him and I'm just not satisfied with the product yet. 
> 
> You can also find my artwork on deviantart, as arrowinthesky. I only have the one sketch added to my account, but more will follow. I'm also drawing fanart of 'Little Jim" and his Bunny 'Bones' for my story, Little Do You Know.
> 
> Thank you, diamondblue4, for helping me with this chapter!
> 
> There is a warning mentioned in the end notes for this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the read!

 

Spock’s resistance was fading as quickly as Nyota’s expression was filling with passion. He had a strong feeling that this emotion was not unfamiliar to her, but a part of her every breath. She had stood up to Nero during their captivity, after all.

“I’m not leaving,” she insisted again.

Gaila huffed. “What she means to say, Sir Spock, is that _we’re_ not leaving.”

The Duke of Marmalade peered up at Spock and mewed, obviously determined to have his say, also.

Spock looked at his two companions with as much patience as he could muster. First, at Nyota, the woman who’d captured his heart on the journey to King Christopher’s, leading to both of them being taken prisoner. And then at the other woman, Gaila, who had just expressed her agreement with Nyota’s decision to remain at King Leonard’s castle.

“It would be for the best,” he said, biting his tongue before he also added that this was a waste of their time.

He never lost an argument, except occasionally with James.

They narrowed their eyes at him defiantly.

He suppressed a sigh. They did not understand that he was deeply concerned for their safety during this troubled time. Did they want him plagued at night by fears that they would be lost to Nero’s predations? “‘Tis the King’s command that all women and children depart from these lands,” he admonished. He stepped forward, ready to assist them with their preparation for departure.

Marmalade mewled, pitifully, and shrank away at his advance. The women did not.

He quirked a brow. He had never known humans to be so obstinate. Except for Prince James, of course. He’d only tried to convince them to acquiesce, and now a mere kitten was afraid of him!

“There, there,” Gaila cooed as she picked up the kitten. She tucked it under chin and glared at Spock. “He didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sure.”

“We won’t go, Spock,” Nyota said, folding her arms.

“You must go,” he said sharply. “I estimate they will arrive this evening.”

“Then let them.” Nyota stepped forward to stand toe-to-toe with him. “‘I’ve fought battles be-—”

“Not like this one,” he interrupted. Did they not see how dangerous it would be?

“We’re in the castle,” she protested. “King Christopher’s knights and the Huntsmen will protect it.”

“And if Nero’s men manage to storm the castle?”

She lifted her chin, reminding him of his mother, who’d had the same courage. “We are not afraid of little men.”

“Aye, we are not,” Gaila said proudly, her curls bouncing.

“On the contrary,” he corrected, “they are not little men, but greatly resemble the Huntsmen in stature and skill.”

“Fine. But men like Nero are _worthless_ , little men,” Nyota snapped. “They deserve nothing, especially not fea—”

“Please, let me speak,” he interrupted gently.

“But—”

“Please, allow me this one word,” he said softly “And then I will not speak of it again.”

She gave a short nod.

His words came to him slowly, for he had never spoken of such things to another before. “Your life is in danger,” he said quietly, “and I cannot fail you a second time.”

She blinked at him, her mouth falling open in a subtle ‘o’ shape.

He took a deep breath. “I would not be able to live with myself. Please, heed my words, Nyota.”

Nyota’s gaze went to the floor as she gnawed on her bottom lip. “I don't know what to say.”

Gaila rolled her eyes and nudged her way between them. “Well, _I_ know what to say. Or what to ask. What about Prince James’s herbs, Sir Spock? For his illness?”

He frowned. “He is cured.”

She shook her head. “He still needs these herbs, Sir Spock, to sustain him. What if the cook forgets what he should not eat? Or if Prince James forgets? He cares for himself naught, always thinking of his people.”

He could not deny James’s tendency to put himself last. That was why he had hardly let Prince James out of his sight, especially when he left the confines of the castle.

How _had_ James survived his capture? Without anyone to care for him, except for a savage king?

He could not bear to tell James less than the truth, and yet he did not yet know what to believe of King Leonard. His hesitance to accept James’s assurances about the savage King was steeped in devotion to his welfare, contrary to what James might believe, had he told him of his wariness.

“We cannot let them destroy this garden,” Nyota insisted.

Indeed, they could not.

King Christopher should be grateful for their sharp minds, for no one else had mentioned the herbs. Not even Geoffrey, who was occupied in the task of clearing a room in the castle and a place in the woods beyond for tending to the wounded.

He bowed his head, looking up at their pleased faces through his lashes. “I shall speak with King Christopher at once.”

“Thank you, Sir Spock,” Nyota murmured. She curtseyed and stared up at _him_ through her lashes. “We will not let you down.”

 

 

oOo

 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, Leonard wearily turned his head towards the door. He’d learned that Mule, despite his size, could walk quietly when he wanted to. Apparently, stealth was not his priority. “James…”

“I hear him, too, Leonard,” James murmured, gently squeezing his shoulders. “Don’t move, alright?”

“Like I could,” Leonard rasped. Trembling with fever, he huddled in a corner where he could feel a cooling draft. “Be careful.”

“Always.” James shuffled away from him and began to howl.

The warbling, screeching sound was so piercingly loud that Leonard curled into a ball and placed his hands over his ears. James snorted like a bull and pawed at the dirt on the ground. The resumption of his act came none too soon, for less than a minute later the guards returned.

He mourned the transition of James to ‘insane prince,’ for he—Leonard—was not himself and foresaw that he’d be dependent upon James before the day’s end. The infection was worsening. James was deeply concerned but there was naught that he could do. Unless they had the right medicinal herbs—an impossibility at the moment—the infection, and the fever, would only intensify.

A pounding on the door scattered his sluggish thoughts, yet he did not open his eyes. It was a precious waste of strength and breath.

“It looks like Lord Nero is taking you with him, after all,” Mule said.

Leonard shivered, imagining the grisly smile and brown teeth of the guard showing through the barred window on the door.

“Now, if only your prince would shut up,” he muttered.

Leonard pried open one crusty eye. Mule had to have been gone at least several hours. It hadn't been enough time for either of them to rest and prepare for their enslavement, and he was relieved to hear they would be traveling with Nero and his men.

“James,” he said weakly. “Please. Cooperate.”

The keys clanged, the door creaking open, as Mule entered their cell. “It’s pointless. Look at him.”

James whimpered and turned his back in an obvious effort to stay clear of Mule. _Useless_. Mule yanked him up by the hair, lifting him off the floor like he weighed nothing.

Tears—genuine tears—streamed down James’s face.

“Let him go!” Leonard cried hoarsely. “He is not…an animal.”

Mule laughed. “He might as well be.” He held up a contraption in his other hand. “Lord Nero has plans for him.”

James screeched for show. “Plans. No plans!”

Leonard felt his face drain of color. “A muzzle?” he whispered in disbelief.

He glanced at James, pleading silently with him to not resist. A futile attempt, since James wildly kicked at Mule’s groin, barely missing it.

Mule promptly swung his fist and knocked James unconscious to the ground with one blow. Motionless, blood poured from his lacerated forehead.

“Leave him alone!” Leonard used all his strength to get to his knees. Despite being extremely weak and shaky, he was preparing to go to his husband’s aid but the guard’s warning look stopped him.

“If you move, Slave King,” Mule snapped, “you’ll be given the same treatment.”

“Please,” he begged, lowering his head in submission, a hard-learned mannerism. He closed his eyes, breathing softly through his nose. Maybe there was a glimmer of mercy in Mule. “Allow me to treat him. I just need thread. A needle. A bandage. And water.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Mule snorted and fitted the contraption, which was made of iron and leather, over James’s mouth. Once he was finished, it was clear that James would not be able to speak, drink, or eat until it was removed.

And he—Leonard—was considered barbaric? This treatment was far more savage than anything he would have ever done to a mentally ill prisoner of his own.

“Pick yourself up off the floor and follow me,” Mule ordered as he lifted James, unconscious, and slung him over his shoulders.

Leonard’s body trembled from weakness and fever, but he obeyed. With the last of his reserves, he stood and limped forward, heavy, cumbersome chains fitted around his ankles chafing mercilessly.

“Once false move, and he pays the price,” Mule tossed over his shoulder.

“The supplies,” Leonard rasped.

Mule’s whip slashed through the air. His answer a fresh stinging stripe along Leonard’s shoulder.

Eyes down, Leonard remained silent the rest of the way as he walked behind them. He hunched over as soon as he saw the doctor, passed out and slumped against the near wall. He was unconscious, not stirring at their passing, still wearing his small, leather pouch full of medical supplies. Faking a series stumbling steps, Leonard managed to relieve the doctor of that precious pouch.

He glanced quickly inside. A needle and thread were nestled at the bottom. It would leave a scar on James’s temple, but at least he’d be able to stitch him together.

He hoped.

 

oOo

 

With a feeling of anticipation, Christopher scanned King Leonard’s lands for Nero and his army from his vantage point—the top of one, damp and drafty castle.

Stepping onto these lands was like stepping into another world. How had James found happiness here?

He had been here for nine days, having left his kingdom with his knights after receiving word from one of his own scouts that Prince James—a man who was his son, forevermore—had been captured and his lands stolen by the Huntsman and his barbaric ‘knights.’ Despite the cordially gruff welcome from Demetrius, he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with their “hosts.” The Huntsmen lived up to their name, especially now that most were hiding in the woods behind the castle, where Nero’s scouts would not see them.

After years of training, Christopher’s knights were fit for the outdoors, but the savagery in the Huntsmen’s eyes, in their every movement and word, was unmistakable. There was no room for vulnerability. Yet, he had to admit they were efficient. Time and resources were never wasted. They hunted for food with swift arrows, drank and ate quickly, and obeyed Christopher’s orders without grumbling.

He shook his head, still in disbelief that James had left him in charge. Choosing him over a man named Demetrius. He’d barely had enough to time to observe them in hope of learning their ways, let alone converse with them, before their prince left to walk straight into Nero's hands.

Being a stranger to their land, they knew things he didn’t. This was a war they would have to win, and he wasn’t above humbly asking for their help. He listened to their concerns and advice, taking all of it under consideration. Even their suggestion, much to his knights’ chagrin, for the smallest of his men to pose as women and have the older youth working in the fields. Everything had to appear as normal as possible, after all, but with fewer peasants, to coincide with the chaos caused by Prince James’s ‘insanity.’ His men hadn’t liked it, but they had no choice. More was at stake than their comfort.

He had stationed himself in the castle, which was as much of a conundrum to him as the Huntsmen were. The sprawling castle encompassed rooms of light and dark, of warm welcome and formidable coldness, of both erudite prince and warrior Huntsman. But certain areas of the castle were even more surprising. The library, for instance, and the bedroom where Christopher, in an effort to inspect every secret passageway in preparation for the upcoming battle, had opened the hidden door. He’d discovered a room that emanated a surprisingly warm and luxurious welcome. It had also contained life. One kitten, who’d been sequestered there, demanded its owner’s return with a piteous mew.

Aye, he wished James had never left, either, but it was the only way to draw Nero out.

“You think he pulled it off?” Christopher murmured to the man standing next to him.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, his movements stiffer than usual. “He will—as you informed me in the dining hall, and as we walked up the stairs, and, again, after we reached the keep—rise to the occasion, Your Majesty.”

He glanced sideways at Spock. “Are you giving me attitude, Spock?

“I am merely pointing out what you have said, in case you had forgotten it.”

“That sounds like attitude to me.”

“I have been accused of it before, Your Majesty.”

“Just Christopher will do,” he said, giving him a pointed look. “We’ve been friends for—how many years?”

Something in Spock’s eyes shifted. “I…since I have known...James.”

“A long time,” he murmured, contemplating when he had last seen Spock so despondent.

_Another long time._

Spock turned and walked the remaining length of the keep to the corner. “We will be able see them as they emerge from the valley, giving us nearly a day’s time to prepare.”

_If James made it to Nero’s lair. If Nero fell for James’s act._

“Aye.” Christopher grew quiet and followed him.

He sensed that the change in topic was necessary and, perhaps, the time away from King Leonard’s Huntsmen was necessary as well. Spock was unique in that he would rather fight without violence. He preferred the pen or strategic counsel. James often expressed his appreciation for Spock’s peaceful outlook, and the two balanced each other in times of both war and peace. Being amongst Huntsmen, who were brooding and eager for battle, could not be easy for Spock.

“I suppose Demetrius will be looking for us,” he mused, adjusting the robe on his shoulders while he took another long look at Spock.

The weather certainly wasn’t the same here, in King Leonard’s lands, as it was in James’s or his own kingdom. He’d added a cloak, and now this robe, and Spock had dressed in three extra layers. Both Spock and Nyota had lost weight while they’d been Nero’s slaves, causing them both to chill quicker than the others, but it appeared as if Spock had been effected the most.

Christopher had never doubted Nero’s cruelty, but Spock’s physical condition proved it. He could only hope that James’s Leonard had not been treated any worse.

James had not reacted well to the scars Spock had along his jaw, near his neck, and on his left wrist. Christopher surmised that Spock wore extra layers of clothing for another reason beyond the added warmth—to hide the telltale signs of his capture. They would heal in time. For now, they were red and inflamed.

Neither was the food the same here. He was indebted to Geoffrey—and Leonard—for taking such care of James, though he couldn’t say that he liked how the king had imprisoned James’s people when they showed resistance to his orders. In fact, he didn’t like it. He was a fair and forgiving man—most of the time. Until he met Leonard, and spoke with him, he would not openly criticize his judgments. Leonard had meted out iron-fisted judgments. And while his sacrifices revealed he loved James with his whole heart, what was there to stop him from acting just as harshly again? At least, when it came to protecting James?

Spock suddenly pivoted on his heel and stared at him. “Do you think James is correct in his assessment that these people are not the barbarians we think they are?”

Christopher was surprised. Spock rarely doubted James’s word. “I do, for the most part.”

Spock looked at him quizzically.

“There are always exceptions to the rule,” he explained, turning away from the green and bountiful landscape that rivaled his own. “They have lived this life for a long time, Spock, in order to survive.”

“And King Leonard?”

He sobered. “I believe James’s Huntsman will find it difficult to leave this life behind, especially if he continues to wear his mask.”

“You know this without meeting him?” Spock asked.

It was a fair question. How could he judge this man, a man James clearly loved, without a proper meeting? “Instinct,” he said quietly.

From what James had told him about his husband—and from what he’d clearly left out—Leonard had been driven by his personal demons all these years. Marriage to James would not change that. Neither would the defeat of Nero. Neither would a peaceful rule, with James by his side.

His past injuries and grief would always drive him, unless he reconciled with his past. His past would dictate what he did in the future, especially when he looked in the mirror each day, at his distinguishing adornment—his mask.

“I would like to speak with Nyota once more,” Spock said.

Christopher smiled to himself. That lovely and strong woman was the only silver lining in this complicated mess.

Of course Spock wanted to speak with Nyota. He did so at every available opportunity. He’d been smitten with her from the beginning, so taken by her that he’d risked his own life to save her from a life of slavery. Nero’s men had outnumbered him in the physical sense, but not in spirit and courage. If he’d had the strength of ten men, Spock would have succeeded. In the end, he had not left her side.

“I thought she had left with the other women,” Christopher said.

“She does not wish to leave when there is an impending battle.”

He’d expected that. “I won’t risk the people of James’s kingdom, or...those of Leonard’s,” he added quietly. “They’ve been through enough. The women and children must leave, Spock.”

“She threatened to hide in the garden with the Duke of Marmalade.”

Chris’s brows furrowed. “She cannot. She has yet to recover from her time in captivity.”

As did Spock, though he would deny it.

“She will find a way,” Spock said.

He sighed. “What are you saying, Spock? That you won’t compel her to leave? Or you can’t?”

Spock blinked. “Both, Your Majesty. I wish to appease her fury, and I cannot stop a woman who matches Prince James in spirit.” Spock paused. “Two women.”

“Two?”

“She has convinced Gaila to join her in remaining behind, because she has invested her life’s work in the tending of the castle’s herb garden. And, now, to grow additional ones for Prince James’s sake.”

He shook his head. “I have a mind to give them swords. Make this official,” he said dryly.

He admired their courage, and was thankful for their dedication to James. A man that Nyota had never met, and a man that Gaila had only known for a few weeks.

“Nyota would prefer the crossbow, Your Majesty.”

He looked at him in disbelief.

“She is quite skilled,” Spock assured him.

Christopher pursed his lips. “Arrows, then, although I can’t say I agree with her choice of weaponry.”

“And a slingshot, as well, since that is Gaila’s preference,” Spock said.

“That won’t stop these men,” he said, frowning.

“Nyota has won thirteen tournaments, Your Majesty.”

“That is impressive but not enough to give me peace of mind,” he said quietly. “I’ll assign six men to the garden, as well.”

“They will be pleased.” Spock lifted his spyglass and peered through it beyond the fields.

“I admire their spirit, and their desire to protect what James needs to maintain his sani—”

“Your Majesty,” Spock interrupted. He handed him the glass.

He looked where Spock indicated, beyond the shadowed lands, and inhaled sharply. The movement was hardly noticeably, like tiny motes of dust.

“I see them,” he announced, spinning on his heel as Demetrius entered the keep. “Demetrius! Warn the men. They will be here in a day’s time.”

Demetrius bowed his head. “Aye, Your Majesty.”

Christopher followed him back towards the ladder. Realizing his extra layers would be cumbersome when he descended, he gave his robe to a nearby servant to hold, instead.

Spock fell into step beside him, his eyes glinting with determination. “Then let us make haste. They shall not succeed.”

 

oOo

 

_Clang! Creak! Clang!_

James groaned. The greedy fingers of unconsciousness slowly let go of him, the cacophony around him a rude awakening. He opened his eyes to see the crumbling ceiling of a new prison, not the blue sky he'd hoped.

In seconds, he realized that the prison was the least of his problems. His mouth was wired shut like a jester’s puppet—and someone was sticking a needle in his forehead.

Panicked, he made a sound of protest in his throat and tried to press his body against a wall.

He could not get away. The man held him down.

“Egads, my James!”

He did not cease his struggle.

Why was his mouth wired shut?

Leonard’s voice whispered harshly in his ear. “Hold still! I do not have the strength left to help you, let alone fight you, as well.”

James froze. His breath escaped him as he touched his mouth, only to feel leather and steel. Then he knew.

He looked at his husband with wide-eyes and whined, the only thing he could do to express his displeasure.

_A muzzle?_

“Breathe, James,” Leonard whispered, looking sorrowfully at him. “We are in a cart...on the way to my castle. Nearly a day has passed since you were struck. Do you remember...what happened before we left?”

He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly through his nostrils. With effort, he finally recalled.

 _Mule_.

He’d tried to hit Mule in order to maintain his ‘act,’ but his efforts had backfired.

He opened his eyes and nodded.

“Goo—” Leonard’s voice was cut off as both of them were thrown against the side of the cart.

Once the jostling stopped, James blinked dazedly at Leonard. The King stared down at him, his face flushed well beyond what was normal for a healthy prisoner.

He couldn’t believe how forgetful he was. Leonard was not a healthy prisoner. He was _ill_.

If a day had passed, that meant the infection had become even worse than before. He reached up and touched his husband’s chin, making an urgent sound in his throat.

“Don’t worry about me,” Leonard murmured, taking James’s hand in his own and bringing it back down. “Hold still. I need...to finish stitching your wound. They...released me...from my shackles only...minutes ago.”

When had Leonard obtained a needle and thread?

A guard rode past, looking in as if he’d heard them speaking. Silently vowing to keep his reaction to a minimum, he flinched once when the needle broke his skin.

“I know it's uncomfortable.” Leonard grimaced. “Especially when...a dolt like me sews you up.”

He protested with another small sound. Leonard was far from being a _dolt_.

“I used to practice,” Leonard said, his lips quirking into a faint and rare smile. “Many times.”

He frowned. Leonard was no doctor. Why would he feel the need to practice?

Leonard pulled his hand away from Jim’s face, pausing. “On animals.”

James rolled his eyes.

Leonard blinked and wiped his dirty sleeve across his flushed and sweaty forehead. “Almost...done.”

Unfortunately, the cart ran over rocks at the same time Leonard continued his stitching. The needle jabbed him like an ice pick in the eye.

James whimpered.

“I'm sorry, my James,” Leonard whispered. “I’m...doing the best...I can.”

The muzzle was an unwelcome, heavy weight on his face, but he was far more concerned for Leonard. James steadied his breath and berated himself for his selfish complaints. He ignored the suturing process altogether, realizing how thirsty he’d become and that he couldn’t take a drink. Worse, neither could Leonard.

There wasn’t a bucket in sight.

When a look of fierce concentration overtook Leonard’s while he worked, James carefully lifted his husband’s shirt.

The wound site was inflamed, oozing with pus, a large bruise also covering the area.

“Done,” Leonard murmured, breathing shallowly.

James let go of his shirt. Leonard did not notice, but glanced out the front of the cart.

“Don’t worry about me,” Leonard whispered, his words stilted. “We are...are as close as Nero will take us. Hear them? The fighting?”

James blinked at him. He heard no such thing.

Egads, Leonard was so ill he was imagining the battle!

“I’ll find a way...to get...th’key,” Leonard said, now slurring his words. “Don’t...you...worry...”

Leonard teetered. James grabbed a hold of his shirt before he could fall back, wanting to help him. Leonard looked far too ill to try to do anything but wait for help, not provide it.

Grunting, he tugged once more. With a groan, Leonard slumped beside him.

He gathered the King in his arms, holding him as close as he could without hurting him. What he could see of Leonard’s face had turned ashen in the dim light of the cart. Indeed, his husband relaxed in his arms, unconscious.

He prayed Leonard would not be tormented by this battle that had already begun in his mind.

Time passed. First night and then the morning, and yet Leonard did not stir again. It was all James could do to stay calm.

He feared the worst for his Huntsman.

Once he finally recognized the landscape through the bars, he knew they were close.

He tenderly touched Leonard’s chin, unable to caress his cheek or kiss him as he desired, but wanting to awaken him. They both had to prepare for what was to come.

The cart stopped, and with it, the shouting of men began. No one came to release them. Dread filled him. Were they to be trapped inside, whilst men fought around them?

A familiar voice boomed above the clang of swords. “Well, what do we have here?”

 _Mule_.

Leonard groaned. “Mule,” he whispered.

James glanced down to see Leonard’s eyes fluttering open.

“Go...James,” his husband said weakly, staring up at him through heavily-lidded eyes. “You...have to...go.”

Mule laughed darkly, coming to the side of the cart. “Nero wants you both to stay put, but I wondered how our prince would do in the midst of the fight without a sword and his sensibilities. And with his mouth shut like a wild animal caught in a trap.”

James ignored him and placed the one blanket he saw in the cart over Leonard’s chest, to hide his worsening condition. But not before he caught a second glimpse of the telltale sign of infection in the jagged wound on his stomach.

His chest filled with fear. If he did not find Geoffrey, Leonard would not live. Even if he did find Geoffrey…

He shook the thought away. He would not go down the road of uncertainties.

Leonard’s face was slick with perspiration. “You...go,” he said breathlessly, piercing him with a look. “Can’t...move me, my...James. Take...his sword...and…”

He shook his head, helpless without his voice.

Helpless without his Huntsman.

_Without Leonard._

The lock on the door of the cart sprang free.

Leonard gripped his arm, but James gripped his tighter.

Leonard looked up from James’s hand on his arm to peer at his face, his eyes filling with undisguised emotion. “I will...wait...for you. I promise...my...James.”

A hand grabbed his ankle, tearing him from Leonard’s grasp. He fell on his face, his ears ringing as he was yanked through the door by his heel and allowed to fall on the ground with a thud.

He didn’t hear Leonard’s weak shout. Or pay attention to the battle raging around him.

A surge of energy coursed through his body. He jumped to his feet, catching Mule off guard. In three graceful moves, he ran Mule through with his own sword. He grabbed the keys to the cart and muzzle from Mule’s pocket as the man sank to his knees—and slammed the door to the cart shut. He quickly freed himself of the contraption. It dropped to the ground, next to Mule’s lifeless body.

Despite the battle around him, he paused and looked longingly at his Huntsman through the bars. “I love you,” he rasped. “I’ll get help. I’ll come back. I’ll...I’ll find Geoffrey.”

Unease settled in his stomach as he spoke those words. There were hundreds of Nero’s men around him, their expressions bloodthirsty. And hundreds of Pike’s men, who might not recognize him for their ally in his tattered clothing.

“I promise you,” he added, gripping the bars as he reconsidered his plan.

Leonard waved him away. “Go!” he cried hoarsely, his face twisted in a grimace. “You waste...time, my James.”

He locked the cart, ensuring that Leonard would be safe until his return. Without a look back at the man most likely dying in the crude prison, he darted directly into the fray.

 

oOo

 

“ _Beast!”_

Leonard jerked himself awake at the vehement hiss in his ear. His heart began to race as he squinted through the bars. A thin young man stood outside the cart, a man he recognized though he’d spoken to only once. “K...Kevin?” he asked hoarsely.

He didn’t understand why he had called him _beast_. He was a man. A barbarian. But no beast. That was Nero. His men.

_But he was no beast._

Kevin nodded, face twisting in a cruel smile. “Aye, Your _Majesty_.”

The sarcasm was a dash of cold water on his soul. Chilled to the bones, he reached up and felt his face. The mask was still fitted securely. He’d forgotten, in his weak state of mind, that Nero had wanted to wait to reveal his identity.

To expose him when it counted the most. Where it would hurt, clear to his core.

 _Here_.

He blinked several times at Kevin, whose face was expressionless except for the eyes that were cold.

 _Cold_.

Another glance told him that Kevin carried drink in a flask around his waist, on his belt. The refreshment, just feet away from him, was a temptation to which he succumbed.

“Water?” he croaked.

Kevin stood outside the cage, motionless.

He closed his eyes in pain, drawing a hand around his waist. He’d thought the young man reasonable. Not heartless enough to refuse someone—him—water. “Please, I beg of you,” he reduced himself to asking. “A drink.”

“ _Beast.”_

His eyes shot open, and he doubted his mind in that very moment. Had he been imagining the harsh accusation? Had this infection finally taken its toll?

Was he truly dying, like he feared he was?

“You want what I can’t give you, Your _Majesty_.” Kevin’s eyes were fiercely cold now, his knuckles white as he wrapped them around the bars of the cart. “Marriage to James has not changed you, and never will.” He pressed his face into the bars, his white teeth gnashing as he snarled at him. “Beast!”

Nausea rolled in his stomach. Nay, he had not imagined it.

His eyes dropped to the water Kevin refused to give him. “It... _he_ has,” he objected in a rasp.

“You care naught for anyone but yourself. You imprisoned us!” Kevin raged, his eyes snapping with fury. “You are what you deserve. A dirty, filthy, beast, trapped like you should be!”

Leonard choked back a sob. “Aye.”

He naught could say anything else. He was condemned.

Condemned by one of many that he’d hurt the most.

“Aye?” Kevin snarled back. “‘Tis too late for a confession, King.”

Leonard swallowed, but could not rid himself of the growing lump in his throat. “Aye,” he rasped. “‘Tis true.”

Kevin's eyes blazed with fire as he pressed his face harder into the prison bars. “I want to hear you say it, Beast!”

Leonard’s gaze flickered to the senseless chaos behind him. “You should...watch yourself, villein.”

He could not call him Kevin, like his James would.

Nay, ‘twould make his confession of his beastliness all too real.

Kevin narrowed his eyes. “‘Tis your fault,” he whispered, suddenly growing quiet. “All of it.”

And what of Nero’s doing? He did not control him, or any man except those he’d captured.

Aye, he was a beast.

Why had he pillaged? Punished? Captured?

Why had he forced James marry him?

_Why?_

“I may be a...beast,” he murmured, sinking into the corner of the cart. He had no strength left. “But this…’Tis not my fault.”

“Your heart is as black as your lies,” Kevin spat in his ear. “Tis your deathbed and—”

_Deathbed._

He gasped, the crushing weight of his years of savagery bearing down on him, and breathed what he thought would be his last.

“—you shall die here, Beast!” Kevin reached through the bars, his hands roaming his face, seeking the one thing that kept him from all destruction. “Yet I will not lose this moment. I will see who you are, the barbarian who kept my kind and generous sister in a hellish dungeon.”

Would he ever be freed from his mistakes?

“Nay,” he whispered, turning his head away.

He was too late.

Kevin peeled the mask from his face.

 

oOo

 

“I believe we will be here all day,” Christopher said, standing face to face with his enemy. His heart beat rapidly from exertion, from what seemed like hours of fighting, yet he still raised his sword high like he was a younger man. “Your swordsmanship has improved, Sir Nero.”

Nero cocked his head and adjusted his grip on his sword. “I have had practice, as you well know. A friend of yours, perhaps, years ago?”

King George’s face flashed through his mind, threatening to upend his control. Did Nero mean to suggest that he had killed James’s father?

Had King George lived, Christopher was certain James would not have suffered for as long as he did.

“I’m sure you’ve practiced since then,” he said, thinking of the young king about James’s age, north of his own lands, that Nero had killed. The gruesome image haunted him, had provoked him into coming to James’s aid.

He rued that he had not come sooner.

Nero’s teeth gleamed in the shadows. “I never forget a face, King George’s in particular.”

His blood ran cold. “You murderer!”

“And the Slave King is not?” Nero laughed, waving his free arm to indicate all that was around them. “I must say, I am disappointed in your hypocrisy, Christopher.”

“He won’t be a slave much longer,” Christopher countered, stepping in a wide circle around Nero.

“I would have killed him already, if not for the secret he holds from his people.” Nero lowered his sword, seeming to relax. “‘Twill not be a secret for long. I wish to see him shamed before those he'd conquered.”

“That is his secret and his alone,” he said heatedly. “I will not judge him before I meet him.”

“And what of me?” Nero quirked a brow.

“You are not worth my breath! Neither is this fight.” He narrowed his eyes. “You will die, Nero. If not by my sword, than by another’s.”

Nero’s eyes gleamed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

It took him three seconds to realize he’d been distracted in his fatigue, his age and arthritis catching up to him.

He was not as young as he used to be. Not like Leonard. Not like James. Not anymore.

The figure from the corner of his eye came out of nowhere. The knife pierced his boot, barely missing his thigh as he retreated from the unexpected stroke.

He was not quick enough. Nero’s sword came down across his back, slicing him with one precise swing of his arm.

His scream lodged in his throat as he fell to the floor. He rolled over in his attempt to get to his knees and then to his sword, which had clattered several feet away. He could not, and collapsed on his back.

“Such a waste,” Nero tsked, walking slowly over to him.

He stared up at Nero, panting.

“I’ll admit that you fought like a younger man,” Nero said softly, “I didn’t expect you to last this long. But times have changed.”

“You...w-won’t survive,” he said breathlessly. “Do you...s-see outside?” He groaned, shaking from the shock of his injury. Though he did not think the wound was deep, it was all he could do not to scream from the pain. “Your m-men...are dropping...like flies.”

Nero’s eyes were smug, his smile smooth. “Oh, but I _have_ won, Christopher. And you can die knowing that the boy you love as a son is as good as dead, along with you.”

“I don’t think so.” The steady, unyielding voice came from behind Nero.

Christopher’s heart stopped as he caught a glimpse of his rescuer.

James’s hardened face morphed into pure stone as he drove his sword through Nero’s back before their enemy could speak.

“Remember me?” James taunted in Nero’s ear. “I’m the _mad_ son of the man you murdered.”

Nero’s eyes widened in shock and death. He gurgled, blood escaping from his mouth at the corners. “Ja—”

“You live without honor,” James hissed in his ear, burrowing the hilt of his sword into Nero’s back. “You die without honor.”

James shoved Nero forward, simultaneously retracting his sword. Their enemy slumped to the floor like a discarded puppet.

Nero’s eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling, already dead.

James walked up to Christopher, his manner fraught, as if they were still battling their greatest foe. “Where is Geoffrey?” he demanded, extending his hand to Christopher.

Christopher heaved himself to his feet with his help. James silently handed him his sword that he'd dropped.

“Here,” he panted, leaning on his sword. “Inside the castle. The...West Wing…tending to a few wounded.”

James turned his head towards the staircase. “I need to find him. He will need to tend to your wound.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I can see it on your face, James.”

“Leonard.” James quickly made for the stairs.

“Leonard?” He did not like the look of defeat on James’s face. “He’s sick? Hurt?”

James paused at the first step, but would not look over at him.

“Son?” he asked softly.

James’s breath caught, his head turning part way, yet his gaze remained fixed on the floor beneath him.

He limped gingerly to the first step and placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder, sensing that he was losing him. If not to his previous, madness, then to the losses they both faced, even as they were winning the battle and Nero was now dead. “James, do you need Geoffrey?” he prodded, steadying himself with his sword. “Is it Leonard? One of his Huntsman?”

James lifted his head. The amount of torment in his expression took his breath away.

“Egads, son,” he said in disbelief, sinking to a seat on the steps when his strength left him. “Tell me ‘tisn’t—”

“Aye.” James’s voice wavered. “‘Tis Leonard. He’s dying, Christopher.” His shoulders slumped. “And there’s naught anyone can do about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Minor character death. 
> 
> Don't forget that this is still tagged with a 'happy ending,' so just hang on! One more chapter, and then the epilogue. :) Please, review?


	15. Emergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my notes are at the bottom, including a warning, placed at the end as to not spoil anything if you'd rather be surprised as you read. Again, remember my tags! ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this (extra long) final chapter!

 

Spock and the doctor froze at the heartless sight before them—a mob attacking a helpless man.

He was fortunate enough to have seen it first, for he was certain James would have stopped at nothing to banish Kevin and his comrades from the kingdom forever, while losing his mind in the process. Had he or the Huntsmen arrived a moment later, he was certain James would have blood on his hands, his madness having returned in its entirety.

He wished it were a mirage, like one of the many he'd seen as a starving, beaten laborer working in Nero’s mines. Or a nightmare, like the ones that had plagued him while he'd been tightly shackled upright against the spokes of a large broken wheel in his cell.

‘Twas neither. The sight was as real as the carnage around him, and caused his anger to fester like the boils of the Great Sickness that had taken so many of their Kingdom.

Flames rose higher than the black flags of the Huntsmen around him as the cart rolled down a hill, the castle its target.

Nay, Prince James and his loving, compassionate heart were the targets of this deep betrayal. Not a building. But a heart.

He dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and rode through the sea of dead and injured. Seconds ago, the battle had been over. Now, it had begun anew.

Maurin beat him there, Geoffrey close behind.

Ten Huntsmen stopped the cart from the front, beating their tunics against the flames crowding in on the king. It did not appear to be enough.

The heat was swallowing the cart whole.

“He is inhaling too much smoke!” Geoffrey shouted while covering his mouth with a cloth. “The flames have reached him! Get him out at once!”

Kevin and his comrades charged while the Huntsmen risked their lives to save Leonard. Spock rode ahead and blocked Kevin and the others from advancing with his sword and formidable mount.

“I am ashamed of you,” he bit out, glaring at the man who called himself a close friend to the prince. “He is naught but a man, a prisoner of Nero who cannot fend for himself.” He glanced back to see Maurin hovering as Demetrius took his cousin in his arms. Blood stained Leonard's tunic. The king was unconscious and limp as they carried him to the carrier behind a horse, his hair singed on the ends. Spock swallowed quickly and returned his gaze to the offenders. “And injured, at that. I will tell Prince James what you have done. Be sure that he will hear of this.”

“Tell him,” Kevin said, a snarl turning his once handsome face into an ugly caricature of his former good-natured self. “I’ll gladly await the report of what he says when he discovers the truth and learns of his betrayal.”

“You do great harm to Prince James, your friend,” Spock said, wheeling his horse in tight circles when the others threatened to pass him. “Prince James knows who he is, and what you have done here is of the greatest betrayal of all.”

Kevin’s expression was one of disbelief. “He knows?”

“That King Leonard is the same Huntsman who found him in the forest?” Spock pulled on the reins to stop his horse, then stroked its neck to settle its restive movements. “Aye,” he said quietly, slipping off his mount. “He knows, and he risked his life to save him, nonetheless.”

Kevin lowered his sword, showing a moment of uncertainty. “Why?”

Spock gave each member of the mob a guarded look. “The marriage is reason enough.”

His answer seemed only to refuel Kevin’s anger and give him and his companions reason to regroup with shouts for retribution.

“I cannot forgive him,” Kevin hissed, grabbing a torch from the man next to him.

“King Leonard did what he thought was best to protect us all from a man whose strength we knew naught,” Spock stated assuredly, omitting any mention of the secret Christopher had reminded him that only James knew. “Can you tell me that you would have done differently, had you been the one wearing his mask?”

Kevin laughed in his face. “You misunderstand. I cannot forgive Prince James.”

Maurin, who'd been assisting the others, jerked his head around. “You blame an innocent man?”

“He is not innocent, when he knows the very face of the man who stole from us.” Kevin’s eyes spit fire. “He knows who he is and what he does, yet remains with him.”

Spock looked coldly at Kevin. “He was captured, and if he remains with the Huntsman, ‘tis for your life!”

“My life does not matter to me,” Kevin responded vehemently. “It matters that Prince James has betrayed his own.”

“If that is your answer, I can help you naught.” He met Maurin’s gaze, who had carefully guided his horse alongside him. “Huntsman, arrest them.”

Kevin stiffened. “I will not be thrown into the beast’s lair like a common thief.”

Beast? Egads, is that what he had accused the King of being? Would James hear of it, his heart would be broken. He considered Kevin more than a friend, closer to a brother and confidant after all their years together.

He could not believe, for an instant, that this had changed Kevin’s heart like the changing of seasons. Something had happened to the young man in days past to twist his thinking, and James knew it naught.

Spock’s hands formed fists at his side and it took all of his will to keep them there. “Would you rather be banished from this place forever? I am certain Prince James would acquiesce to my suggestion,” he said, his tone deliberately mild despite the rage which burned hotly in his chest. “If King Leonard dies, however, his blood will be on your hands and your life will not be spared.”

This betrayal went beyond that of Cake’s. And, dare he say it, beyond that of Leonard’s.

Kevin was James’s hope for all his people. A symbol of what freedom would be for them.

That day, it appeared, had been lost by these cruel actions, and perhaps even crueler intentions.

“Let him die. He cared naught for us.” Kevin looked at his ragtag group and threw down his sword. “I’ll gladly leave.” He stared at the desolate path beyond the bodies behind them, then back at the other villeins with him who’d joined him in the evil act. “And so will they, the few who are with me. I care naught to be ruled by anyone,” he spat.

“‘Tis done.” Spock hardened his heart towards him, but offered a glimpse of mercy, the sparing of his life. For now. “Leave and never return. You are no longer under protection of King Leonard or Prince James. If you return, no one will protect you from Prince James’s wrath. You will surely die.”

“Aye, we will pack our things and never return. If my sister and Anne remain?”

“They will not be harmed,” Spock vowed. “You have my word.”

Kevin silently led his companions away, peaceful villagers of James’s beautiful kingdom no more.

Spock did not speak again until the twenty young men and women were but hazy figures in the distance, and even then it was Maurin who said the words he was feeling but could not express. His chest burgeoned with fear for the damage it would inflict upon the already aching heart of an honorable prince.

“I cannot...speak of this to your Prince James,” Maurin whispered from atop his horse. “Forgive me, but I cannot.”

Spock clenched his teeth. “The king. Is he…?”

“He is alive, but barely. He has suffered wounds from their attack.” Maurin hesitated. “I must go. You are coming?”

He did not need to look around at the losses on the ground, the men that they had lost whose bodies would be reverently taken to be buried, unlike the bodies of Nero’s men that _their_ men would drop into unmarked graves.

“Aye.” He gracefully mounted his horse. “We are finished here.”

Maurin bowed his head, his eyes downcast, as was his face. “Will you tell him?”

He wished to keep this betrayal away from James’s ears forever. “Aye,” he whispered painfully. “Eventually.”

Maurin lifted his head and blinked. “I will not judge you if you don’t.”

The Huntsman and Geoffrey had already gone ahead, Leonard’s still form wrapped securely on the travois. “Let us ride. The king and his mate are in need of all of their good men.”

If his eyes were filled with the anguish he harbored in his soul on behalf of James, betraying the depths of his emotion as they reached the castle Maurin mentioned it naught.

 

oOo

 

Although his body protested the decision the second he sat in the chair, Christopher still did not listen to Geoffrey’s recommendation to remain in bed once his wound had been cared for. After learning that James was not handling Leonard’s deteriorating condition well, he’d convinced Gaila to bring him a rolling chair and take him to James’s room. He had surprised himself, harmlessly flirting with her to get his way. She was, in fact, the age of a daughter, had he ever had one.

He would have done anything to be with the man who was a son to him. He would never leave James at a time like this, when the younger man’s world was falling apart at the seams.

“The poor lad,” Gaila whispered, turning his chair into James’s room.

They paused in the doorway. James sat beside Leonard, despondent, not even acknowledging the Duke of Marmalade, who scratched at his foot wanting his attention.

She gasped lightly. “He is heartbroken.”

Geoffrey glanced up from Leonard’s bedside and sighed once he saw him. “Only for a short time, Christopher. If you do not heed my instructions, you will not be any use to Prince James.”

He nodded, thought it was painful, and Gaila pushed him forward. “Fair enough.”

James gripped Leonard’s hand. His countenance was frozen.

Christopher was certain that he did not even know he was in the room with him, let alone sitting next to him.

“How is he?” he asked Geoffrey softly.

Just by looking at the man lying on the bed, whose sunken, pale face and singed hair made him appear to be a stranger, he knew the prognosis was not good. James had been correct—Leonard was dying.

Geoffrey’s eyes first shot to James, who did not look away from Leonard’s still form on the bed. The doctor waited, as if wanting a reaction from James, but then shook his head and looked at Christopher when he didn’t respond. “He is severely dehydrated from being held captive by Nero. He is also very weak from the infection. He is weaker still from the attack.”

James’s face broke. “Please, don’t say that word,” he interjected tightly. “Don’t say it!”

Geoffrey’s face softened. “Aye, I apologize, Prince James.” He drew a breath. “I have done all I can, but the rest is up to him. The will to live...I cannot say for certain that he has it.”

The words swept over him painfully. He could not imagine the anguish James felt in that moment.

James bent over and rested his head on the bed, near Leonard’s uninjured side.

Christopher squeezed James’s shoulder. “Has he awakened?”

“He has not responded to anything,” Geoffrey murmured.

“He t-told me…” James’s shoulders shook under his touch. “He told m-me...that he would _wait_. He promised.”

“He has certainly held on longer than I would expect anyone in his condition to do,” Geoffrey replied gently. “He survived the night, Prince James, but he is still weak. He must survive this one, as well, to have any hope of fighting this infection.”

“Do you think...he wants to die?” James whispered.

The room hushed.

“I cannot speak for him,” Geoffrey said finally.

Christopher sent him a warning look at his weak response.

“You know him…” James’s voice cracked. “Better than his own husband.”

Geoffrey sucked in a breath. “That is not true. You have a...a certain way with him, Prince James, that has brought out this desire for _life_ in him.”

James laughed dryly. “Aye,‘tis true. You know him better. So, tell me, Geoffrey, has he lost the will to live?”

Geoffrey’s expression was guarded. “I cannot say.”

“That is not an answer,” James said hoarsely.

Geoffrey’s brow creased. “Prince James, I would rather not—”

James slammed a fist on the bed, startling them all except Leonard. He glared up at Geoffrey. “I _demand_ an answer.”

“James—” Christopher began.

“Nay,” James snapped. “I demand an answer!”

Geoffrey humbly lowered his shoulders and bowed his head—but still did not say a word.

James closed his eyes, lifting a hand to his forehead to massage it. “Aye, your silence damns him.”

“He has never forgiven himself,” Geoffrey said. “You must understand that the attack, the words that were spoken in anger against him, could have wounded him deeply, in his weakness.”

James averted his head. “He is not in his right mind.”

“Nay,” Geoffrey agreed. “He is not. The infection...has affected his mind, as I feared.”

“Leave us,” James whispered.

Geoffrey looked beseechingly at Christopher.

“Would you prefer Spock to keep you company?” Christopher asked.

James shook his head. “I prefer to be alone...with him.”

Christopher leaned towards James, to offer him comfort. “If that’s what you want.”

James blinked several times then reached down with his other hand to grip Christopher’s. “I want Leonard.”

“I know, Son,” Christopher said softy, squeezing his hand.

“He promised. He promised.” James curled inward, as if to weep, yet he did not cry out. “Leave me. Please. I would like...a moment alone...w-with him.”

The sheer desperation of James’s words rendered him silent.

“We will leave, but not for long,” Geoffrey asserted. “I would like to try giving him more fluids. He must take in some water before tonight.”

“I will try now,” James looked up at Geoffrey, his expression impassive. “Where is the cloth?”

Geoffrey handed him a dampened cloth. James immediately dabbed it tenderly on Leonard’s cracked lips, as if the king were a child, and then squeezed it between his lips.

They left the room quietly. Christopher could not help but glance back once again, filled with uncertainty for this young man for whom he carried great fatherly love. He’d vowed to watch after him after King George had died, as much as the adult James had allowed. It had not always been easy. Distance had worked against them, as had James’s illness.

If Leonard, indeed, died, what would become of the strong, capable man James had become since he’d last seen them?

Leonard, despite his savage ways, despite his mask, despite his mistakes, had captured more than a bride.

He’d captured a heart.

 

oOo

 

“Sir Spock, two men have arrived at the castle gate who insist on speaking with you.”

Spock stopped pacing outside James’s room and looked up at Demetrius, who was striding towards him. “Their names?”

“Hikaru and Ben Sulu.” Demetrius hesitated. “Commoners, my lord.”

He looked at the closed door of James’s room. It had been one hour since James had asked for time alone with Leonard. He still refused them entrance. Denying Christopher. Denying even him, his closest confidant and friend.

He was surprised to hear of Hikaru and Ben’s return, but not displeased. Indeed, it would provide James with some comfort, for at time, at least.

“Are they friends, Sir Spock?” Demetrius asked. “Or are they strangers I should send on their way?”

“Nay, do not send them away.”

Demetrius looked at him, surprised. “You were so quiet, I feared they were...enemies.”

“Like Kevin?” he asked, the young man’s transformation and actions still much on his mind.

The older man’s jaw clenched noticeably. “No man could match that betrayal. ‘Tis wise you do not inform Prince James of that evil.”

“Hikaru and Ben have never denied a thirsty man water or given a peaceful man cause to fear.” He paused, considering where he could meet these compassionate, peaceful friends of James. He’d intended to send word to Nyota regarding James and Leonard, but had yet to do so. She would either be in the garden or with Gaila, lending a hand with those who were still recovering from the battle. “I will greet them in the garden.” He paused, wanting to make their stay here as comfortable as possible, despite the tragedy looming ahead. They would have traveled a great distance, faced dangers along the way with their family in tow. “Hikaru is a gardener. He will be quite pleased with King Leonard’s garden. It is magnificent, even to the untrained eye.”

Demetrius bent his head. “As you wish.”

 

oOo

 

He cracked open heavy eyelids, not knowing where he was until he saw James.

His prince’s eyes were fraught with tears. “You’re awake again.”

Unconsciousness tried to claim him. He wanted to succumb to it as he recalled the reason for his pathetic state.

“No, no! Stay with me,” his prince pleaded. “Please, like you promised.”

He had promised too much to James, but he forced his eyes open.

He pushed his tongue between his lips, feeling droplets upon them. Water, the refreshment that he’d longed for but Kevin had denied. “Y-you?”

James looked at him confusedly. “Aye, with me.”

That was not what he meant, but he could not form the words to ask again.

“Always with me,” James whispered, stroking his bare cheek. “I will not leave you.”

He looked up at him, his heart laden with grief. He did not deserve this man. He deserved _nothing_. “Beast,” he slurred.

James’s shadow fell upon him. “Nay.” His husband shook his head as he wept, tears cascading down his cheeks and falling onto Leonard’s face like rain. “You are not the savage man you think you are,” he whispered, cradling his face.

Leonard leaned into his warm hands. “You,” he whispered again.

He'd failed James. Kevin was right. Marriage could not have changed him. He was too far gone, swept away by this world of darkness he’d made for himself.

“Aye, I'm here,” James said, his startling blue eyes the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “I'm here, Leonard.”

His mouth fell open, but he did not have the strength to answer.

He struggled for a breath, a rattle emerging from his chest.

He knew what that meant. It would be soon, death.

James’s eyes widened with panic. “Stay with me, please. Please.”

“My James,” he slurred. “I cannot…”.

He cannot _live_.

The mob’s eyes had been filled with the judgement he deserved.

“Yes,” James’s voice filled the room, echoing with urgency. “Yes, you can live. With me. Here, in your home. We don’t have to live in fear anymore. No one does. Nero is dead.”

Dead?

He blinked.

James stroked his forehead, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “He’s dead. The people in the lands beyond yours can live in freedom, thanks to you, Leonard.”

Nay, he had done nothing. His ways did not bring peace, but sadness. Despair. Destruction.

He deserved nothing but an end to his dark charade. He deserved...to… “...die…king...die...” He turned his head away.

He felt numb, now. The breaths were harder to find, like a fading, disappearing dream which he could not keep in his grasp. Maybe it had been a dream. All of it.

Even James.

 _Especially_ his beautiful, strong, honorable James. “Let me...go.”

“Nay,” James cried, his breath hitching. “Stop saying that. I won’t let you go.”

“Die,” he rasped, allowing his eyes to close.

“You must live, my Huntsman,” James whispered. “Your past—what you’ve done—matters naught. You’ve changed. What matters is our future. Together.”

He sighed, wincing at the pain the second breath caused. His chest pained him at every little movement. Had he succumbed to another illness other than the infection? He could not think of anything but _death_.

Certainly not living.

“It...does matter,” he breathed. James did not understand. “My...father…”

“Was it murder?” James asked, clutching his hand. He shook his head at his own question. “I think naught. I know you are more honorable than that.”

His lashes fluttered. “As good...as murder.”

James peered into his face, his eyes gentle. “An accident?”

The image of his father, blood gushing out of his chest, rose in his mind, a living nightmare. “He’d...been hurt.”

He tried to swallow, but gasped weakly for air, instead.

“By you?” James asked.

“Nay.” His tongue was swollen. Heavy and cumbersome. Yet, he wanted James to understand. “I…”

A mew came from beside him, and he felt soft paws pounce on his arm.

“Marmalade, go,” James scolded.

The kitten scampered away, its nails tapping on the floor as it retreated.

“Tell me,” James continued.

Darkness was slipping over him like an executioner’s shroud. “Held...h-him.” He shivered. “He...was dying...by another. I...I…”

James’s face blurred before him.

His thoughts were weightless.

He could not _feel_.

Was he finally free?

His head turned limply to the left. He could not stop it.

“Nay!” James cried. “Geoffrey!”

He opened his mouth for air, his throat shrinking. He gasped. “ _James_.”

Figures surrounded his bed. A hand touched his body. And another.

They touched his face, his wrist, his side.

His heart.

 _James_.

His _heart_. A noble man, his James was, and he would be better without the king.

“ _Your Majesty, stay with me.”_

Nay. Not king. “Not king,” he murmured. “No…”

He gasped, his chest longing, desperately, for air.

“ _We are losing him!”_ Geoffrey exclaimed. “ _Gaila, where is Hikaru?”_

“ _Nay, do not leave me.”_ Fingers curled into his arm, pressing upon his skin. “ _I know naught how to live without you, Your Majesty!”_

He longed to keep James’s hand there, where it burned upon his flesh like a brand, but he could not.

He was drifting.

He was losing. Losing James as he sank further into the gray nothingness.

He was king, yet he could to nothing to stop this.

“ _There must be something else you can do.”_

_“He does not want to live.”_

He exhaled. “...I, King Leonard, freed him…”

And he must...free _James_ from him...

“ _You spared him.”_

_“He punished himself.”_

_“He still does.”_

_“Nay, Leonard. Stay with me!”_

_“Hikaru—”_

_“He must fight!”_

_“Fight.”_

_“Apply it here!”_

He looked up at the shadows above him. Who had spoken? James? Geoffrey? Demetrius? Maurin?

He could see them naught, yet he sensed the sadness that fell off them in waves.

He would end their suffering, he would.

He would not fight.

Not anymore.

They would never experience darkness again. “You’ll see,” he whispered. “You—”

No more.

“ _Keep talking to him.”_

 _“Leonard?”_ Someone pleaded. “ _Please. Come back to me.”_

Soft lips pressed against his cheek, marking him for this life, but he was halfway between here and another world—

—and he welcomed it.

“‘ _Twill burn. Hold him down.”_

_“Please, Leonard. Stay with me. Listen to me. You spared him, Leonard. You did not murder. You spared. You are not a beast—you love.”_

“My James,” he breathed, speaking to James although he could not see him. “I love...yo—”

“ _No goodbyes. No. Please, don't tell me good—”_

“—Remember...that, my James. Rule...with kindness...my Ja—”

Fire suddenly swept through his side, the pain cutting off his voice.

“ _What’s happening?”_

He arched his back, voiceless and gasping for breath.

 _Drifting_.

_Bleeding._

_“Tell me! What’s happening?”_

_“Hold him down!”_

It was too much.

He reached.

And relaxed just as he found it.

 _Peace_.

The voices faded. His shoulders sank into the bed.

There was a gentle touch on his cheek, like the fluttering of angel’s wings.

 _James_?

He could not hear him now.

_Ja—_

His eyes were wide and fixed on the spot before him, as if searching for hope, but there was none.

None.

The world had stopped.

And so had he.

He was consumed by the peaceful nothingness.

Nothingness.

Nothingness _._

_Nothingness._

“ _He’s gone.”_

_“No...no, Leonard, come back—”_

_“James, listen to me.”_

_“He’s just sleeping. He’s just—”_

_“He shouldn’t be in here. Get him out of here!”_

_“James—”_

_“No, I can’t leave him! Leon—”_

_“James, please—”_

_“He’s gone.”_

_“Get him out of here!”_

_“James!”_

_“No, no, I don’t believe it!”_

A desperate cry reached Leonard’s ears, a mournful wail that struck a chord in the hearts of those around them, but not his.

It was too late.

The announcement came that night.

King Leonard had breathed his last.

 

oOo

 

James stared out the window of his bedroom, ignoring the counsel of Demetrius and Maurin behind him. They were unrelenting in their advise and support. It had been a month since King Leonard’s death.

He would shut the voices of reason out of his head forever, if he could. The hushed chatter of the servants as they bustled about around him, needlessly cleaning his room, irritated him. Sadness pressed him on all sides, threatening to smother him.

He was slipping into a welcome torpor. It was naught the frantic madness he had known before he'd met the Huntsman and then Geoffrey but a more welcome oblivion. He knew naught where he trod, when he slept, or what he consumed. He’d eaten a mushroom last week while he’d been out on a rare walk. He had not meant to eat it, did not remember plucking it from the forest floor, yet he’d strangely welcomed the attack on his mind which had followed.

It had given him a brief respite from the pain of losing the king.

Of _waiting_.

Geoffrey had not let him alone for a second since, placing him under medical arrest, if there was such a thing. Demetrius or Maurin guarded him by day and by night.

He was never alone, yet he was always alone.

Without Leonard, his life was nothing.

“You must take up the crown.”

“We cannot wait any longer.”

“The people need you more than ever now.”

“Your Majesty—”

“Do not call me that.”

“Aye, but I—we—must. The people have been mourning for too long.”

“They need a time of hope, Your Majesty.”

“I said, do not call me that!”

“We’ll call you whatever we want, James Tiberius Kirk.”

James’s back stiffened at the third voice.

 _Christopher_.

“You're acting like a dolt, Your Majesty.”

He closed his eyes in chagrin. “I thought you were—”

“Still healing?” Christopher asked.

A chair creaked behind him as Christopher rolled up to him.

He opened his eyes but did not turn around.

“I'm out of bed. No longer a complete invalid that Gaila has to tend to,” Christopher added.

He nodded. “Good,” he said politely. “Soon, you will be able to travel.”

“It depends.”

He hummed, distracted by the Huntsmen practicing below. “On what?”

“You.”

“I am not their king,” he spat.

“No, you certainly aren’t,” Christopher said coldly.

He turned around then, and glared at him. “What does that mean?”

Christopher’s eyes snapped. “It means you need to get your head out of your arse and pay attention to those who need you!”

He stiffened. “They need someone who is of sound mind. That is not me, or do you forget what I did in the forest.”

“You’ll use anything as excuse.” Christopher shook his head.

“‘Tis more than as an excuse,” he argued. “It happened! I was mad—”

“For all of what? One day?” Christopher scoffed. “I thought it took more than that to take a Kirk down.”

“We’re not as resilient as you think.” He turned back to the window.

The Huntsmen had grown in number since he’d last looked out.

He squeezed his tears back.

_His Huntsman was no more._

Christopher sighed. “This isn’t good for you, holing up here all day—”

“It’s not all day,” he interjected defensively.

Christopher’s second sigh was more pronounced. “It’s not what he would’ve wanted for you.”

“Well, he isn’t here, is he?” He wished for the older man to leave, to leave him alone, but dared not ask.

Demetrius and Maurin would surely come to Christopher's defense, Gaila, who was changing his linens, soon to follow.

“Nay, he isn’t here,” Christopher said softly. “And that’s the point.”

He drew his hand into a fist and pressed it against the window sill.

There was no point.

“You have to live, son,” Christopher said. “He would not want this for you.”

His chest constricted painfully. “I can’t.”

“James, please, for the sake of your people.”

“I said—I can’t!”

A throat cleared behind them. “Prince James, if I may have a word?”

He inwardly groaned. Geoffrey’s added appearance would only strengthen his counsel’s resolve, but at least he hadn’t called him ‘king.’ “Nay!” he retorted.

“Aye!” Christopher chimed simultaneously.

“There are decisions that have to be made, Prince James,” Geoffrey began.

“Aye, you must...”

He clenched his jaw and stared at Maurin with anger. “I will send you to the stocks if you say the word wed!”

Geoffrey chuckled.

He narrowed his eyes at him. “There isn’t anything funny about it.”

Geoffrey sobered. “You are right, there isn’t. I apologize, Your Majesty, but you see it is...amusing.”

James blinked.

“You only decide to maintain your kingship when it suits you.” Geoffrey’s lips twitched. “Like now.”

“He has a point.” Christopher crossed his arms and tipped his head back to stare up at him.

He huffed and strode from the window, glancing around his room. Something was missing. He frowned. “Where's Spock?”

Christopher exchanged a look with Geoffrey before answering. “Taking care of the matters that you are avoiding.”

He sighed in resignation. He did not care for the fact that those matters were monopolizing Spock’s time. He doubted Spock liked it, too. “What decisions must be made that cannot wait?”

Geoffrey hesitated. “The new infirmary.”

His heart skipped a beat. He swallowed. “Your hospital.”

“I can't care for your sick and elderly on my own, Your Majesty,” Geoffrey said softly.

“You have Gaila.” He scowled. “And a few others, like Janice.”

Janice, whose brother had mysteriously vanished.

No one would tell him why.

“Aye,” Geoffrey said. “But my days are long. I have not cared for you as I should have.”

It was something Leonard would have said to him.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Geoffrey reached him as he hunched over, anguish gutting him. He embraced him around the waist before he sagged to the floor. “To bed. That is all you will do today.”

He felt suffocatingly hot, and once he was forced to be on his bed, he felt no better. “I thought you were just trying to kick me out,” he said weakly.

Geoffrey gave him a small smile. “Not today.”

He blinked at him several times, catching his breath. “I can’t believe...he’s gone.”

“Aye,” Geoffrey agreed softly as he adjusted the pillow behind him.

He glanced beyond the doctor’s shoulders, suddenly realizing his counsel, including Christopher, were gone, leaving only the servants.

Geoffrey caught his look. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” he protested.

Geoffrey’s mouth thinned. “As I’ve said before, I have not cared for you as I should. Leonard would’ve agreed and sent me straight to the stocks without hesitation for my negligence.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

“With respect, Your Majesty, you’ve grown too thin and there are bags under your eyes. You don’t eat enough, and when you do, you eat what you shouldn’t, but by no fault of your own. It has taken its toll. I wouldn’t be surprised if your madness does return, for the strain of this loss has been greater than we’d imagined it would be.”

He fell quiet as Geoffrey continued. He had nothing to say to that, for it was all true. Every last bit.

“I will be here when you awaken, and every day after that, until…” The doctor’s voice diminished into nothing.

James swallowed the lump in his throat. “Until I’m no longer...a widower?”

“That is not what I meant,” Geoffrey chided.

“You cannot stay here with me like I’m a child.”

“You’re my king—”

James groaned.

“—and that makes it reason enough.”

“But your other duties.”

“King Leonard was always my priority,” Geoffrey said.

“But you have more to do now.”

The doctor paused, then nodded. “Aye.”

James could see that he was only delaying the inevitable, and making it harder on everyone else. “I’ll accept the crown—”

Geoffrey’s eyes widened.

“—in two weeks.”

Geoffrey blew out a rush of air. “I’m happy to hear of your decision.”

“Now, before you go, what matters do you wish to discuss with me?”

Geoffrey glanced over at the maids.

“If they gossip, they gossip,” James said softly into the quietness.

Geoffrey arched a brow. “Very well, Your Majesty. I would like to seek help...outside of your kingdom.”

“That’s reasonable,” he said slowly. “But how do you propose to search for this assistance you desire when your duties are pressing here, as well?”

“Janice.”

His brows shot up. “Janice,” he echoed.

“Aye. She has been of great assistance to...to me...these last few weeks,” Geoffrey said, stumbling over his words. “But...her duties have changed.”

“How so?”

“Her patients are well,” Geoffrey said simply. “And she is willing to ride with several Huntsmen, seeking another to share the work with me.”

“I was not aware that she knew what to look for, when it came to medical matters.”

“I’ve trained her enough,” Geoffrey said with a shrug. “And I trust her judgment. She is making a new life here, without her brother. It would give her...purpose, Your Majesty.”

James had not expected the burning tears which welled up in his eyes. Kevin, missing. The man who’d been like a brother to him. Gone.

It did not make sense.

He wiped his eyes, a wave of foolishness washing over him. He was soon to be king. Why this silly, unprecedented show of emotion?

“How has she taken her brother’s disappearance?” he forced himself to ask.

He didn’t want to know, not really, for he himself could not find closure to the mystery, could not rid himself of his pain.

The loss of both the king and Kevin weighed upon his heart in a depressing manner, a weight so heavy and fierce that he could do nothing to stop it.

He curled on his side, forgetting he’d even asked the question.

Geoffrey squeezed his shoulder. “Let us not discuss that now, Your Majesty. You must rest.”

“Aye,” he whispered.

Geoffrey left quietly, dismissing the servants from the room, as well.

As he went to sleep, he dreamt of his Huntsman’s fingers on his cheek in a gentle caress.

 

oOo

 

Had he been asked, James would’ve described the next three weeks as harrowing, if only for the tediousness of his coronation and the festivities which had followed.

He would have said, also, that he was glad to be done with them.

The day after the final celebration had ended, and the guests had gone home, he donned casual wear and slipped out the back door. He surprised the Huntsmen outside the secret door, but went on his way.

Of course, Maurin matched his stride, as did Demetrius, both fulfilling their pledges to protect him.

They’d promised Leonard, they’d said.

The care and concern would have warmed his heart had King Leonard been alive. But he was not, and so the promise deepened his feeling of loss and he did not speak the entire way to the villeins’ homes.

Once he reached his destination, Archer opened his door with a pleasant smile that he could not return. “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head. “Please, come in.”

James entered quietly and was instantly drawn to the new toys on the table. “You’ve been busy.”

Archer nodded, glancing at the figure sitting at the table. “We have.”

“May I?” James asked him.

Cake respectfully stood and answered for his father. “We would be honored.”

It was strange, to now be a friend with the man who’d tried to ruin both him and Leonard, but James had never been one to keep a grudge.

He ran his hands over the tin horse.

He blinked. He could not believe it. It looked exactly like his Huntsman’s horse.

“I see that you favor one,” Jonathan murmured.

He did not want to set it down, but he did. “It is beautiful.”

He reached for another toy, a boat, but Cake’s voice stopped him.

“Please take it as a gift, Your majesty,” Cake said, picking the horse up with his two, large hands.

He sucked in a breath. “Nay, I could not—”

“Please,” Archer interjected. “It would be our honor.”

He hesitated, but took the toy from Cake’s extended hands. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I don’t know what to say.”

Archer bowed his head. “Do not say anything, but stay for su—”

A sudden cacophony of sound, of horses and children and men, came from outside the door.

“What could that be?” Archer went to the window and drew the curtain back. “Your celebrations are over, are they naught?”

“Aye,” James replied, hanging back. He wanted no part of any parade.

Archer peered out and inhaled sharply. “Your Majesty, you must see!”

Maurin joined the older man at the window. His usually grim face cracked with a subtle smile. “Aye,” he said softly. “You must listen to your friend. Come, Your Majesty. Look.”

He did not like being forced into a decision. It made him feel even more lonely than he already was.

Achingly so.

He looked down at the toys, instead. “I cannot. I am busy here.”

Demetrius opened the door. “Cannot? Or will not? Aye, I’ve never known someone so stubborn as…” The huntsman paused. “Geoffrey!”

He huffed. “Geoffrey is stubborn, but not as -”

“You misunderstand me, King James,” Demetrius murmured. “Geoffrey and Janice have returned.”

James’s heart fluttered, and would not stop. Geoffrey had decided to accompany Janice, after all. They'd been gone for one week. He clutched the tin horse to his chest and ran out the door. He did not stop until he was just outside the circle of villeins clamoring around them.

Disappointment pricked him when he could not see over the sea of people. Had he always been this short?

Aye, he could not help but think that Leonard had always made him feel like more. More than what he was.

“Here, Your Majesty,” Cake said, coming beside him. “Take my horse.”

He looked at him in surprise. “I am indebted to you.”

“‘Tis the least we can do,” Cake said.

James took the reins and mounted the horse. He could see everything now. Including Janice. And Geoffrey.

And their companion.

Yet, he could not move forward through the crowd of people, thus leaving quite the distance between him and the center of their attention.

Archer limped out of the door with his cane and stood beside James. He patted the horse’s neck nonchalantly. “Did they find who they were looking for?”

James heart beat furiously in his chest. “I do not know.”

“Your kingdom is growing, Your Majesty,” Archer squinted against the sun as he looked up at him. “I hope, for Geoffrey’s sake, that he did.”

James clutched the reins so tightly they cut into his hands.

Archer glanced over his shoulder, towards the crowd.

The crowd suddenly parted, making a clear path for Geoffrey and those with him.

_Those with him._

He stopped breathing.

Nothing could have prepared him, not even seven weeks of waiting.

Archer hummed in his throat. “Ah, can you see them? Perhaps they did find someone, after all.”

James did not answer. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes. He looked down as his shaking hands, then noticing his growing panic.

“Perhaps I should not ride after all,” he said hoarsely.

“Perhaps not,” Demetrius said dryly. He dipped his head towards the other huntsman. “Maurin.”

“Come with me, Your Majesty,” Maurin said, as softly as he’d ever heard him speak.

“Some king I am,” he muttered, as they helped him off the horse.

“I would do no better,” Demitrius offered gallantly.

“I probably would have already pissed in my pants,” Maurin stated, then gracefully mounted the horse, in his place. “Come.”

James blinked. “I...don't know.”

Demetrius stroked the horse’s neck, murmuring at it. “You’ll ride behind him.”

James looked over at Geoffrey, who was walking towards them. Which was reasonable. They needed to pass Archer’s house to get to the castle.

“Your Majesty?”

He swallowed. “Fine. I guess I’m small enough. I mean, I’ve lost weight. Still am losing weight, if I were to be honest. I can’t eat, and I think I’m shorter now, too, so I guess I could fit. But what if—”

Maurin rolled his eyes and reached for him, deftly pulling him up behind him.

His stomach rolled as they moved forward. Light-headed, he rested his head against the Huntsman’s back. “Are we there yet?” he whispered after a long minute of listening to the horse’s hooves cross the cobblestones.

The movement suddenly stopped.

“Not yet, Your Majesty.”

“Nay?” he asked nervously. “Then why have we stopped?”

“Only a cow barring the way.”

“A cow?”

“Aye.”

“A cow.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

He sighed, closed his eyes, and prayed he would not say anything foolish. But they weren’t there yet, were they?

Somewhat relieved that he had an extra moment to regain his composure, he lifted his head and looked around them.

His heart suddenly jumped to his throat.

There was no cow.

But there was one broad-shouldered, short-haired man standing beside Geoffrey.

“Geoffrey, ‘tis good to see you,” Maurin said.

“It is good to be back. The trail life is not for me,” Geoffrey said quietly, then looked at James. “Your Majesty, I can tell that you have continued to have trouble sleeping while I’ve been gone. Mayhap with eating as well.”

He could not tear his gaze away from man beside him.

Aye, but neither did the hazel eyes stray from his face.

“Aye,” he said, swallowing with difficulty.

Those eyes were laughing at him.

Egads, he felt his body melt from their heat. The shorter hair emphasized everything he’d loved about that face. And with the beard completely shaven, he looked more formidable than ever. His hair had seemingly turned darker in mere weeks.

Geoffrey grunted. “Once we return to the castle, we will discuss it.”

He nodded, but did not reply, lest his voice squeak like it had in his youth. He gripped Maurin’s waist as his anxiety grew to unthinkable heights.

Geoffrey glanced at the man beside him and frowned. “Where are my manners?” he muttered. “Your Majesty, may I present to you my apprentice, a man worthy of the position we sought to fill. Apprentice, meet your new king. It would be best if you two got along right away, as you will be taking my place as King James’s physician.”

After Geoffrey’s prolonged explanation, which had gathered an even bigger crowd and dozens of pairs of curious eyes, he finally found his voice.

He narrowed his eyes at the man who looked well and healthy—and alive. So beautifully, wonderfully, and wholly alive. Egads, it appeared as if Geoffrey’s apprentice was healthier than he was. “Your name?”

Geoffrey hesitated. “He might not give it. He has taken a vow of silence.”

James looked at the man in genuine surprise. “Is this true?”

The man lowered his eyes, his lashes stunning against his healthy-looking skin, and nodded.

“May I ask...why?” he inquired.

Geoffrey nodded. “Penance, Your Majesty.”

The answer unsettled him. “He has no penance left to pay,” he said, nearly hissing the words.

Egads, what was he playing at?

The man bowed his head more.

“For how long?” he demanded to know.

“Until he has deemed his punishment has been served,” Geoffrey explained.

He fought his impatience, trying to understand. This had not been a part of their plan, yet he would do anything for him. Even this. “I will not force him to speak if he does not wish to.”

Dark eyes lifted to meet his. The man slowly nodded, a distinct measure of relief filling his expression.

“His name, then?” he asked, softening his tone.

Geoffrey quirked a brow. “‘Tis odd, but his previous... _king_...had given it to him. They had grown...close, Your Majesty.”

He scowled at the insinuation that he’d had a relationship with another ruler. “Other king?” He had not heard of this. Not at all. “And this king? They are still...friends?”

“Aye,” Geoffrey announced. He lifted his chin. “Very much so.”

He huffed in annoyance. “Your apprentice’s name?”

“Bones, Your Majesty.”

“Bones?” A forgotten, once lost wave of laughter swelled in his chest. He stared at Bones—his Leonard—his Huntsman—and laughed for the entire world to hear. “Bones?” He felt lighter—younger—than he had in years. Indeed, hadn’t it always been him who had completed him? “ _Bones_?”

“Aye, Your Maj—”

“Bones.” He could not believe it. Of all the names his Huntsman could have chosen.

“Well, yes, Your Maj—”

“Bones,” he barely managed again, laughing until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

With a long-suffering sigh, Maurin slipped off the horse to give him space as he tried to catch his breath.

“Egads, what has he eaten today?” Geoffrey exclaimed. “A mushroom, or a piece of bread?”

James threw back his head, laughing once more in abandon. “Nay, I haven’t eaten at all.”

“That explains it,” Geoffrey muttered. He exchanged a glance with Bones, who then threw James a narrowed, pointed look.

James coughed into a clenched fist, fighting to regain his composure.

Geoffrey quirked a brow. “Bones, it appears as if you shall start now. See to it that the king makes it back to the castle in once piece—and that he eats.”

Bones nodded and stepped forward to grab the reins. He glanced back at James as he led them away from the crowd, his eyes smoldering and saying everything that was necessary to say between them.

“Bones,” James whispered, longing to run his hands through his newly-shorn hair, to kiss those lips, to find himself locked in his warm and strong embrace. “We have another life ahead of us.”

Bones looked over his shoulder, his lips curving into a smug smile.

“Aye, I know what you are thinking.” He was light-headed with anticipation.

Bones’s smile widened. He tugged the reins and led the horse on the path towards the castle.

“I'd do it again,” James said after a moment of comfortable silence between them. He'd never grow tired of watching his smooth strides, his body in perfect form.

Bones stopped the horse. He turned around slowly and stared up at him.

“Even if I had a choice,” James whispered, sinking into Bones’s look of adoration. “I'd marry you for a second time.”

They found themselves in each other’s arms, fervently kissing, as soon as Bones locked the bedroom door behind them.

The Duke of Marmalade curled up in his soft bed underneath the window, where the light hit his fur. He slept, finally content. His masters had come home.

Thanks to his Huntsman, their lives, James knew, had taken a miraculous turn for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Temporary Major Character Death.
> 
> It's come to my attention that it might not be clear that Jim, did, indeed know that Leonard would fake his death early on. He was not in the dark, mourning for two months before he was told the truth. (He was only mourning "King Leonard" in the figurative sense, as a passing of Leonard as King, but not in physical form). I tried to insert various clues to show this. If you did not catch them I'd be glad to point them out. I don't want anyone thinking that he was played. He was not. I don't believe Leonard would ever do that. I tried creating a mystery of the last two scenes, because I wanted the "REVEAL" of "BONES" as a surprise to YOU as the reader as much as possible. Thus, I had to make things obscure in the last two scenes. If I didn't make it clear enough and it's upsetting...my sincere apologies. 
> 
> Thank you to all who continued on this journey with me! It became a little darker than I’d anticipated, with a few extra turns from what I’d originally pictured, but I’m quite satisfied where we’ve ended up. I think to heal completely, and move on, Leonard had to leave his life as King Leonard and the Huntsman behind and carve out a different life with James. I do hope you enjoyed this final chapter, and the story in its entirety. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all who have read. I can’t say how much I appreciated the kudos and reviews, too. It really means a lot! And to diamondblue4 and junker5, thank you for your comments and encouraging words, as well. I can never thank you both enough!
> 
> I had planned an epilogue, but for now I’ll leave this story as complete, because I think less is more. I like leaving a few questions open-ended, and leaving more to the imagination. Such as: the specifics of Leonard's healing, did he really come to visit James in his sleep towards the end, and when did they come up with the plan to fake Leonard's death so he can live a freer life. 
> 
> It’s quite possible I’ll add an epilogue, depending on the feedback. I do have a vision for it, one I think you would all like. To be honest, I just don’t know whether to make it a shorter sequel - or add it to the end of this story - or forget it altogether, with the ‘less is more’ in mind. (I’d also love to add a chapter of artwork - and will be working on it.) 
> 
> As I had explained in the notes of the first chapter, this story was inspired by photos on the LJ comm. And, as indicated in my tags, it was also influenced by Beauty and the Beast. What I’ve held close to the vest until now is the other source of inspiration - the book, A Rose in Winter, by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. I read this book several years ago and loved it. It does have its flaws (and it “is” dated, having been written over thirty years ago, I believe) but it was thoroughly entertaining, with a captivating plot and equally captivating characters which influenced the first half of this story. I don’t wish to spoil an excellent read, so I’ll just leave it at that. :)
> 
> Another note for those who read my stories - YES! I will go back to writing my three main WIPS now that this is done. 
> 
> Let me know what you think about continuing James and Bones’s story here as a one-shot, or including it as an epilogue. I will consider all ideas. I’d love the feedback! Thank you so much!


	16. Artwork I: The Duke of Marmalade and the Huntsman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two attempts at artwork...I don't draw very often, though I like to, so please be kind! LOL! 
> 
> I will be working on a sketch of Marmalade sleeping under a window, and also correctly sketch James...but those will take me a little more time. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy them.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the meager offerings! 
> 
> I'm still considering that epilogue, very much so. It's just that even a little bit of negativity right now, well, "negates" the positive comments I received from you all (thank you, by the way, for your kind responses) - and my heart isn't in it yet. I'm fine with constructive criticism, but other trolling comments (that I will delete or not publish?), I'm not interested in those when I'm writing for free. No, thank you. But, that said, I hope that I will be able to write that follow up. I, too, think James should know what Kevin did. And I believe he will. Of course, an epilogue would also be the perfect time to get Bones talking!!! :) Thank you, again!


	17. Author's Note: Sequel Underway!

The epilogue I planned became too much to be called a simple 'epilogue.' I've made it into a (short) sequel, called The Huntsman's Vow, and the first chapter is already posted as Part Two of this series! :)

I have more artwork to share ready, too, but I'm having issues with the photo hosting site so I can't post those yet, today.

Hope you enjoy the next part to James and Leonard's story!


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